


Mahal's Pride

by Lomelindi (PirateColey)



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Drama, End of the world road trip, Family, Family chooses you, Gen, M/M, Plague, Prophecy, Thilbo, bagginshield, everyone is human
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-08
Updated: 2013-06-23
Packaged: 2017-12-07 21:59:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 64,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/753547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PirateColey/pseuds/Lomelindi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo Baggins has a quiet life inside his fallout shelter while the world outside is destroyed by a deadly plague. Everything changes when Thorin Oakenshield and his nephews knock on his door looking for aid. Following a vague prophecy they travel west in hopes of finding the source of the plague and saving the world. Along the way they make some new friends, fight unforeseen dangers, and struggle to find a cure for the GOBO Virus. Survival doesn't matter if you forget how to live.</p><p>Slight future AU, taking Tolkien's idea of the End of All and sending our favorite dwarven company on a cross-country road trip. Light Bagginshield.</p><p>Now with bonus epilogue!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Lonely Shelter

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: General warnings for this story are some graphic violence and swearing. If anything else comes up, I will try to warn at the beginning of that chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lovely KariDei Uchiha is doing a spanish translation of this story: http://www.fanfiction.net/s/9553083/1/La-orden-de-Mahal .

* * *

_Sunday September, 15, 2019  
Davenport, Iowa_

 

Bilbo Baggins was content to stay underground. It was safe and warm in the cement fall-out shelter his family had built years before, and nothing unexpected ever happened. Most people hadn't the foresight to carve themselves a safe-haven, but a Baggins was nothing if not prepared. His parents had built the shelter for tornadoes and possible warfare, but it served well enough to keep him safe from whatever unknown peril lurked topside.

The shelter contained everything he could possibly need. The cold cement floor was covered by thick rugs and tapestries warmed the walls. There was a stockpile of fuel for the lamps and a small stove which provided heat for warmth and cooking. Basic plumbing brought in fresh water for drinking and washing up, and carried away waste from the porcelain stool tucked into the tiny bathroom. There were several sets of bunk beds, a chest of drawers full of clothing, and shelves containing dozens of books and games. There was even an old television set and a radio that had ferried in rumors of a widespread sickness, until the electricity failed weeks ago. A large walk-in pantry was stocked with enough non-perishable food that he could easily survive for six months.

It had already been three.

Truly, the only thing his shelter lacked was company. The bunker had been built to house an entire family, but Bilbo had no one and was used to the solitude. When the world first went mad and he had tucked himself safely below-ground, there were television programs to watch and news reports to listen to. Bilbo had still felt connected to the world above him and it was easier to fool himself into thinking that he wasn't alone. Once the power went out, he found himself with an empty sort of loneliness, the kind no amount of books or food could fill. It was as if all the loneliness he had been carrying throughout his life had suddenly been brought to the forefront of his thoughts, where it sat churning and growing until he could no longer handle the isolation. Still, fear of the unknown dangers lurking outside kept him from venturing out of the safety of his lodgings. And even if he dared to leave his shelter- he would still be alone.

Bilbo settled in for an early evening meal- a routine he had come to relish- when a loud knock sounded on his door. He jumped, obviously frightened, though he knew the bar across the doorway would keep any intruders at bay. Creeping slowly forward, Bilbo grabbed a baseball bat to use as a makeshift weapon should the need arise. He pressed an ear to the door, startling slightly at the sound of human voices just beyond the steel barrier. Excitement and fear battled for dominance and his heart pounded in his chest as he strained to hear the conversation.

“This one appears to be locked, Uncle!” Said the first voice, softly.

“Maybe there's something good inside! Let's open it!” The second voice sounded excited and very young. Most likely a child.

“We can't just break down the door, boys. Who knows what could be inside.” This voice was low and gravelly, though it held an air of unquestionable authority.

“But Uncle, there might be food inside. It's been days!” The first voice again, an edge of desperation apparent in the words.

“Please, Uncle?” The young voice said hopefully.

There was a long silence and for a moment Bilbo thought they had moved away from his doorway. He found himself panicking in despair, suddenly missing the sound of human voices more then he ever thought possible. The thought of spending one more night in lonely silence was unbearable. There were people outside- people who might have news, people who might be able to keep the lonesomeness at bay. Hefting his baseball bat, Bilbo called on all the bravery and courage he could muster and tossed caution to the wind. Throwing the latch, he pushed open the heavy steel door.

The three figures outside the entrance startled and the older man stepped in front of the two boys as if to protect them from danger.

Goose-bumps ran up Bilbo's arms, though whether from the chill of the air or the fear, he couldn't say. Regarding the strangers silently for a long moment, he found himself completely unsure of what to do now that his hiding place was exposed. Opening his mouth to speak, he found no words in his throat and closed his lips again without uttering a sound.

The man wore a midnight blue pea-coat, the elbows worn and patched, but Bilbo could recognize the fine craftsmanship. Dark hair streaked with silver framed his face, though it was long around the edges and desperately in need of a trim. His mouth was set in a worried frown and a scruffy beard followed the contours of his jawline. There was something slightly feral about him; a lean tightness of muscles that stretched the shoulders of his jacket and a steely resolve set deep in his eyes. 

Behind him, the two boys were different as night and day. They couldn't be older then 15 and 13, possibly even younger beneath the layers of dust and grime. The older boy sported cargo pants and a military jacket, his blond hair pulled back from his face in a series of braids. The scruff of a first beard coated his cheeks, and he rubbed his fingers over it nervously with his right hand, the left clutching the other boy's sleeve. The younger child looked around with curiosity, his dark eyes peering out from under an unruly mop of dark hair. Both his jean and gray parka were oversized, probably hand-me-downs, which made him appear even smaller.

Eventually, the man spoke, suspicion evident in his deep voice, “Thorin Oakenshield, at your service. And my nephews.”

“Bilbo Baggins, at yours,” He said, fighting the ridiculous urge to bow. Not sure of what else to do, he looked around, taking in the outside world for the first time in months.

In the gathering dusk the first thing that became apparent was the lack of lights. No cityscape gleamed in the distance, no buzz of streetlamps, or hazy flashes from a distant highway. No light at all save for the moon and the dim glow from his own doorway. The door to his fallout shelter was nestled against the back wall of his family's house. Peering around the corner of the building, Bilbo gasped in horror as he noted the graffiti coating the brick walls and the smashed out windows indicative of looting. The other nearby houses were all in a similar state of ruin. As far as he could see, the street was long since deserted and ransacked. Nothing of value remained, nor any trace of life.

“It's only been three months!” Bilbo squeaked, panic causing the bile to rise in his throat. “How could this happen?”

“Three months is more then enough time for the world to end,” Thorin responded dryly. “The better question is why are you still here?”

“Where else would I go?” Bilbo worried his hands together. “This is my home! The news said to seek shelter and not to come out until the all-clear is given.” Someone had tagged the word _treasure-hunter_ on his door and he scrapped absently at the bright green paint. “The radios won't work anymore and there's been no all-clear...”

“Then why did you open the door?” Thorin furrowed his brow, regarding the other man with a solemn curiosity.

“I don't rightly know,” Bilbo shrugged, not quite sure if he could voice his loneliness. “It's been so long since I've heard voices other then my own...”

The explanation appeared to be enough or perhaps Thorin was too tired to care. He nodded and glanced back at his nephews, “Night is no time to be out in the open anymore. We were looking for supplies, but we need to get back to our car before it gets any darker.”

“Your car? You have a safe place to go then?” Bilbo stalled, curious as to where they were going, and not altogether ready to have them leave.

“The car is home enough for us now,” Thorin said softly, casting another look at the two boys, who were huddled close together against the side of the house.

“This might seem strange and I'm not quite sure why I'm offering, but I have food if you'd like,” Bilbo stuttered, gesturing absently towards his doorway. “And there's still running water for baths...”

Both boys shot desperate looks at their uncle, the younger offering puppy-dog-eyes and a soft whimper.

“We'll take you up on that offer, Mr. Baggins,” Thorin leveled a dark gaze at Bilbo. “But if you even _think_ of trying anything...”

The threat hung in the air, causing Bilbo to shiver inwardly. “What would I do? You're quite a big larger than I am. Plus, you have me out-numbered.” He shrugged, “And what kind of person would I be if I hurt a child?”

Thorin laughed darkly, “You really haven't been outside in months, have you?”

Shrugging again, Bilbo turned to the door and stepped inside. Thorin and the boys followed cautiously, and he shut and bolted the door behind them.

* * *

Once they were ushered inside Bilbo realized he had no idea how to handle his guests. Being locked in solitude for three months had made his already clumsy social skills feel even more lacking. Looking around his makeshift home, he pressed his palms together and exhaled deeply, trying to calm himself. “Right then. I suppose the first thing we do is get you lot some food?” Leaving the others standing awkwardly in the threshold, he moved to the stove and began dumping canned stew into a pot. “No one has any food allergies, do they?”

“Nope! We'll eat about anything at this point!” The youngest boy grinned brightly.

“Thank you, er...” Bilbo frowned. “I'm sorry. It seems you didn't give me your names.”

“I'm Kíli!” He pointed to his brother, smile widening in obvious fondness. “And this is Fíli!” The older boy inclined his head slightly.

“Pleased to meet you both, I'm sure.” Bilbo nodded to himself, stirring the stew and then moving to find bowls. “You might as well take a seat. The food will be done shortly.”

The boys sat close together on the worn sofa, whispering quietly to each other, while Thorin wandered around the small shelter, clearly searching for signs of danger.

“You'll be safe enough,” Bilbo said and tried not to feel nervous when Thorin's eyes narrow at him. “It's only me here.”

“How did you come by this shelter?” Thorin asked darkly. “Did you find it? Steal it?”

“I am Bilbo Baggins, of the Hobbiton Baggins! I did not _steal_ anything!” He huffed, angry at the accusation. “My family built this entire establishment! The Shire- finest luxury condominiums in Iowa!”

Thorin snorted derisively, “And I'm sure you worked hard to get where you are now...”

“What? Work? Well, no... Of course not... My family, you see...” He stuttered. “I'm a Baggins!” 

“That's what I thought,” Thorin said with a cold sneer.

“You act like you don't trust me!” Bilbo hissed, highly offended that anyone would respond to his hospitality with judgment and suspicion. “I didn't have to open the door for you! I most certainly did _not_ have to let you in!”

“My first priority is to protect my nephews. I'm sure even you can understand that.” Thorin glowered and pushed his dark hair back from his face.

“Even me? What's that supposed to mean?” Bilbo knew an insult when he heard one. “You don't even know me!”

“I know enough,” Thorin said, moving his hands to rest on his hips. “The world is falling apart and you are one of the few people with a safe place to hide. And you're in here alone.”

“Who else would be in here with me?” Questioned Bilbo with obvious concern. He shifted nervously on the balls of his feet, not wanting to admit his own friendlessness and longing to Thorin.

“Your family? Your friends?” The taller man replied. “Anyone you wished to spare from the fate that's out there!” He motioned towards the door, referring to a world Bilbo no longer understood.

Bilbo sighed, “My parents passed away years ago and I rather expect the people around here think I'm a little too peculiar to make friends with. I have no one.” Turning back to the stove, he dished the stew into bowels and handed one out to Thorin. “You'd best eat while it's still warm.” Taking the other two bowels, Bilbo walked across the room and handed them to the boys.

“Thank you!” Kíli beamed, digging into the food with such gusto that Bilbo couldn't help but wonder when their last real meal was.

“Yes, thank you,” Fíli added, obviously relishing his food, but keeping one eye on his brother, as if to be sure the younger boy had enough to eat.

While his three guests ate in silence, Bilbo puttered around the room, washing the pan and righting the pantry. He wasn't sure how best to handle Thorin, who seemed to dislike him from the onset. The children were easier to understand, looking extremely underfed and unkempt. His heart broke as he watched them eat, both boys licking the last traces of stew from their bowls and fingertips.

When they finished eating, Thorin took his nephews' dishes and brought them to Bilbo at the sink. “Thank you for the meal,” He said stiffly. “We haven't been able to find much food as of late.”

Bilbo looked at Thorin for a long moment, wondering how much the other man was downplaying their situation. “Why don't I show the boys where the bathroom is? It looks like they haven't had properly baths in weeks.” The banked shame in Thorin's eyes told Bilbo he was correct in his assumption.

The way Fíli's eyes lit up when Bilbo showed them the tiny bathroom with its stall shower and porcelain stool was nothing in comparison to the way he smiled when he watched Kíli laugh over his own reflection in the mirror. The younger boy took in the ratty birds-nest of his hair and dark smudges of dirt on his skin, then couldn't stop giggling. It was as if a dam had been broken and the laughter spilled out from his chest, lightening the room in such an infectious way that Bilbo and Fíli couldn't help but laugh with him. Even Thorin poked his head through the door to see what the fuss was about, a ghost of a smile playing at his lips as he watched his youngest nephew. After a few more moments of laughter, the two boys were left to their baths, while Thorin and Bilbo returned to the main room.

“I'm sorry I snapped at you before.” The apology sounded awkward, as though Thorin was unused to giving them. “The last few months haven't been easy... being clean and well-fed will help their spirits immensely.”

Bilbo nodded slowly, “Everything was easier before the power went out. I'm just glad there is water left to offer you. I keep wondering if that will be the next thing to go.”

“Eventually it will. Everything is ending out there,” Thorin sighed, rubbing a tired hand over his eyes. He looked softer in the lamplight, more vulnerable, and Bilbo couldn't help but think he was probably very handsome beneath the layers of grime and worry.

“What exactly is going on? There were news reports at first about a strange sickness out west, then suddenly it was global and they were telling us to hide.” Bilbo drummed his fingers together nervously.

“At first no one knew what it was,” Thorin said, settling himself into an armchair. “We know it began in California, just a random, unexplained death. Best we can figure, people had been exposed without even knowing it. The symptoms don't start to show for a few days... All it took was someone infected getting on a plane and leaving the city- the country...” His eyes stared off in the distance, “Once the deaths started it was already too late.”

Bilbo quaked in his seat and chewed nervously on his lip. “So it _is_ a disease then? That's what the news was starting to say.”

“It's more then a disease, it's a damned plague!” Thorin stated, giving his words a moment to sink in. “They call it GOBO Virus. It's contagious briefly just after infection, but it spreads mainly from the corpses. A few days after the person dies, the body starts to release these gases... They don't seem to last long in the air and don't travel far on their own, but once you inhale them...” He shrugged, clearly shaken. “One body in a hospital morgue- the gases get into the ventilation system and it's everywhere in a matter of minutes. The workers are exposed and go home on the trains, the subways...”

“So, it's everywhere?” Bilbo questioned, though in his heart he already knew the answer.

Thorin nodded, “I figure the bigger cities got wiped out the fastest- the higher the population, the more chances to spread. I doubt there's anything left of China now. Or New York.”

“What does this... GOBO plague do, exactly?” Bilbo asked nervously, as a heavy weight settled in the pit of his stomach.

“It starts with fever and headaches, but eventually the people seem to have these violent hallucinations and start to attack everyone. They don't appear to notice if they get injured, or even care who they're fighting. It's pure, unmitigated rage.” Thorin's eyes darkened, “I guess it's too much pressure on the body and they're usually dead within ten days from respiratory failure. And then they're nothing more then a corpse that infects others.”

“Surely people realized what was happening? Why didn't they all stay in their homes, away from any corpses? Why are all the houses here empty!?” Bilbo heard the fearful edge in his voice, but couldn't calm it.

“People panicked,” Thorin explained. “There were riots and looting and people were getting killed. It only made things worse. More travel meant more chance of exposure and spreading the damned thing, but people were scared. They fled and they took the GOBO Virus with them.” He frowned and raked a hand through his hair. “The infection rate is over 75%, but the people who survive exposure are often killed by the plague victims themselves. The violence in uncanny.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Thorin seemingly lost in his memories and Bilbo trying to come to grips with what he had been told. A plague was spreading across the surface, leaving death and destruction in its wake. Before long Fíli and Kíli joined them, both boys scrubbed clean and dressed in fresh clothing. They sat back down on the couch, Fíli wrapping an arm around his brother's slim shoulders. Kíli dug a small calender out and ticked an 'X' off over the date before tucking it back in his coat pocket for safekeeping.

Bilbo looked at the boys for a moment, then back at Thorin. “How do you know all of this?”

“The news helped a little, before the power went,” Thorin answered with a shrug.

“The internet helped more,” Fíli added softly, eying the overflowing bookcase with a thinly veiled longing. Kíli yawned and curled sleepily into his brother's side, his eyes drooping heavily.

Thorin nodded, “That's true. The press seemed to be hiding something, but all the conspiracy theorists online actually managed to suss out some solid ideas. The rest we've just figured out as we went.”

“If it's so dangerous to travel, what are you doing out there? With two children, no less!” 

Fíli shot an irritated look at Bilbo, but said nothing, instead stroking his brother's hair gently.

“My father's name was Thrain,” Thorin began. “He ran our family business with an iron first and we thrived under his leadership. Six months ago he headed to the west coast on a business trip. We never heard from him again.”

Bilbo leaned forward slightly and waited while Thorin pulled a folded up map out of his coat pocket, spreading it out on the table.

“This map showed up in the mail three months after my father went missing. It was addressed in his handwriting.” Thorin stabbed at the map with his finger, indicating a hastily scrawled note: _“Mahal's Pride must seek Valinar._ What does that even mean?” A frown tugged at his lips. “One week later the deaths started.”

“So, you're just going to follow this map and hope to god that you don't end up infected?” Bilbo stammered. “The map could be be a coincidence! It could have nothing to do with this plague!”

“What other choice do we have?” Thorin snapped. “We've got nowhere else to go! And it sure as hell doesn't seem like any help is coming!”

Fíli glanced down at his brother, then back to the arguing adults. “If you don't mind, I think Kíli and I are going to grab some sleep.”

Bilbo pointed at the farthest set of bunk beds and nodded, “There are blankets and pillows. Feel free to use whatever you need.”

“Thanks,” Fíli nudged his brother awake, then guided him over to the beds.

“So...” Bilbo sighed, not knowing what to say.

“So...” Thorin replied, obviously having the same problem.

“Would you mind terribly if I asked what happened to their parents?” Bilbo looked over to see both boys tucked into one of the lower bunks, sound asleep.

Thorin started to refuse, then decided otherwise, “Their father took off years ago, just before Kíli was born. Their mother, Dís, was my younger sister. We lost her in January to cancer.”

“I'm so very sorry,” Bilbo whispered.

“She held on far longer then she should have,” Thorin's eyes were bright with emotion. “In the end there was so much pain... She didn't even recognize her sons anymore.”

“Those poor boys!” Bilbo's throat felt tight and his chest ached, as his heart broke all over again for the two motherless children.

Thorin swallowed thickly, his eyes trained on the sleeping figures of his nephews. “They're all I have left. If I could think of a better course of action, I would follow it. But there is nothing else for us to do.”

“You could hide away somewhere...” Bilbo tried to ignore the part of his mind that screamed _you could hide away here with me._

“And what happens when the supplies run out? What happens when the rest of the world is dead?” Thorin questioned, his hands shaking in exasperation. “No, we're better off if we keep moving. And hopefully we'll find some answers along the way.”

Bilbo nodded, quiet for a moment as he turned Thorin's words over in his mind.

“What about you?” Thorin asked. “Are you planning to stay here, buried beneath the ground like you're already a corpse while the world rots away above you?”

Unsure of his answer, Bilbo said nothing. 

Eventually, Thorin left to shower and sleep, but Bilbo stayed awake long into the night. He thought over the loneliness in his life and how quickly he had opened himself to these strangers. He found that he admired Thorin's courage and loyalty to his family, and there was no doubt about his feelings towards the boys. Bilbo always loved children- he had wanted a house filled with nieces and nephews and little ones of his own. Now, with no family left and the world at its end, there was very little chance of that ever happening. Still, he wondered if there might be happiness waiting for him if he was brave enough to leave the safety of his fallout shelter and join Thorin and his nephews on their adventure.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there's the set-up... the traveling and action start next chapter.
> 
> This is not going to be a direct re-telling of 'The Hobbit'. The company will hit a lot of the same locations, but it's pulling a lot more from the 'Silmarillion' and appendixes. Expect lots of random Middle Earth cameos.
> 
> If for some reason you want to follow me on tumblr, I'm PirateColey there... and mostly re-blog Tolkien stuff. :)
> 
> Lastly, I want to offer a quick thanks to shinyadoll, who pushed me to actually write this. She is the Kili to my Fili.


	2. The Key-Bearer

* * *

_Monday September, 16, 2019  
Davenport, Iowa_

 

Bilbo woke slowly, the last vestiges of a dream tugging at the edge of his mind. He turned over in his bed, pushed back the blankets and stretched the kinks out of his arms. Normally, the silence of the mornings was unbearable, as the first waking moments always consisted of his sleep-addled brain trying to make sense of his surroundings and harshly reminding him of his solitude. A soft snore in the distance made him startle and sit up straight in the darkness. For one brief and horrifying moment, he feared one of the plague-ridden men had forced its way into his shelter, but that thought quickly faded as he remembered the night before and his unexpected visitors. The idea of not being alone set well with Bilbo; it filled his chest with something warm and heady, like the first glass of champagne or a phone-call from an old friend.

Climbing out of bed he padded quietly into the living area, leaving the lamp flame turned low, so as not to wake his guests. Pulling his patchwork robe tighter around his body, he sank down into his favorite chair and weighed his options. On one hand, he was safe where he was. The door was made of steel and heavily barred and he had enough supplies to last another three months- more if he was careful. On the other hand, he was lonely. If he had not been willing to fully admit it before, he certainly was now. And what would happen when the supplies ran out? Surely he would be safer traveling in a group rather then hazarding off on his own in three months time. But Bilbo was cautious. And Bilbo was scared. What would happen if he left and something bad happened to Thorin and the boys? Or what if they didn't even want him along? That particular thought had stung more then it should have, and caused him to make up his mind.

A noise behind him caused Bilbo to jump. Thorin raised a brow at the other man's skittishness, but nodded quietly and offered him a small smile before taking a seat. They sat in awkward silence for a few minutes before the quiet was broken by a small whimper. Bilbo turned immediately towards the bed the boys shared, but Thorin shook his head, raising a finger to his lips. _Shh._ The hushed whispers that followed told Bilbo that young Kíli had woken from some sort of nightmare and that his brother was comforting him.

Eventually, the boys righted themselves and stumbled out of bed, flopping onto the couch and rubbing the sleep from their eyes. “Morning,” Fíli yawned, tugging at the neck of his faded Beecake t-shirt as he sunk into the cushions.

“Yeah. Morning,” Kíli blinked lazily, his dark hair sticking up at odd angles.

Bilbo smiled, “Did you boys sleep well?”

“Yes, thank you,” Fíli replied, while his brother nodded. “It was nice to have a bed for a change.”

“Where do you usually sleep?” He raised a brow in question, having not put much thought in to the logistics of their situation.

“In the car,” Kíli shrugged, the oversized teal sweatshirt slipping off one of his shoulders.

“Oh.” Bilbo didn't know what to say to that. He had gone on overnight camping trips in his youth, but had never spent more than one night without the comfort of a bed. “How, uh, how long have you been traveling?”

Thorin and Fíli turned to look at Kíli expectantly. The youngest boy dug out his calender and checked for the date, “We left August 30th. It was a Friday.”

Bilbo blinked at Kíli in confusion and opened his mouth to question the boy, but Fíli shook his head slightly. “What's the plan from here, Uncle?”

“We should head out while it's light and see how much ground we can cover.” Thorin consulted his map, “We're at least a six hour drive from Ashland if the roads are clear.”

“What's in Ashland?” Bilbo asked curiously, resting his chin in his hand.

“That's where Rivendell University is located.” Thorin glanced at him, “An old friend of mine is a professor there. I talked to him after the deaths started and he said he had some information that might help.”

“If he's still there,” Fíli added, quietly.

Kíli nudged his brother lightly with his shoulder. “He will be, Fee. Stop worrying so much.” 

His grin proved infectious and Fíli smiled back. “You're right. I'm sure he will be.”

“Well, I'm quite certain everyone will be better off traveling with a full stomach.” Bilbo stood up and moved to the stove, “Breakfast first, travel later.”

Breakfast consisted of oatmeal, fortified with raisins and the last of the honey. The boys ate heartily, Fíli downing his serving with haste and Kíli going so far as to lick the last traces from his bowl like a puppy. Thorin too ate with the lusty appreciation of a real meal, and the heavy knowledge that it might be the last one they had for quite some time. The meal was finished all too soon and the time came for Thorin and his nephews to say their goodbyes.

“We can't thank you enough for your hospitality,” Thorin said, a grateful smile turning up the corners of his lips.

“Yes!” Kíli chimed in, his eyes bright. “Thanks for the food!”

“And for a safe place to sleep,” Added Fíli with a quiet grin.

“I wish there was something we could do to repay your kindness,” Thorin expressed honestly as he pulled on his coat. “I genuinely hope you survive this madness.”

“There is something you can do.” Bilbo took a deep, steadying breath to steal his courage. “You can take me with you.”

“What?” Thorin gaped. “Why would you want that?”

“The way I see it, I have two choices. I can sit here and wait for the world to end and be lonely and miserable.” Bilbo smiled and tried to appear more sure then he felt. “Or I can go out and experience the end, and not do it alone, and maybe I'll find some happiness along the way.” He shrugged, secretly pleased by the surprised looks on the others faces. “Plus, I do believe you're in need of supplies and I happen to have a pantry full of them!”

“I... uhh...” Thorin opened and shut his mouth a few times, looking like a fish out of water. “I honestly don't know what to say.”

Bilbo shrugged, ignoring the frantic thumping of his heart in his chest. “It's a big decision. You should talk it over.” With that he walked into the pantry to take stock of his provisions. Once inside the pantry, he fell heavily against the wall and exhaled deeply, his calm demeanor shattered. He stared unseeing at the cans and boxes in their neat rows, his thoughts racing as to whether or not he'd be left behind.

Not five minutes later, Kíli poked his head in the door with a mischievous grin, “Hurry up or we'll leave you here!”

“Really?” Bilbo smiled broadly and followed the boy into the main room.

“As long as you realize this isn't some cushy vacation,” Thorin responded with a level gaze, his eyes holding Bilbo's a moment too long.

“Obviously!” Bilbo gathered a few essential items from the bookshelf and stuffed them into a backpack. “I'm not an idiot, thank you very much!”

“You're welcome to come with us then.” Thorin looked to where the boys stood, identical grins on their faces. “Apparently my nephews are fond of you. Probably because you fed them.”

Fíli laughed, “You make us sound like wild dogs, Uncle.”

“Some days I think you are, lad.” Thorin grinned as he opened the heavy steel door and peered out cautiously before disappearing around the side of the house. A few minutes later the rumble of an engine broke the silence as a mint green Ford Pinto pulled into view. The car had probably been heading for the scrap heap long before the plague started; large patches of rust crawled up the doors and along the bumper, and the seats reeked of sweat and smoke. 

“Really?” Bilbo couldn't help but raise a brow. “That's your car?”

Shrugging, Thorin glanced at the vehicle, “It still drives and fits us all. It's not like there were a whole lot of choices left when the time came to leave.”

“I'm fairly certain that was voted one of the fifty worst cars of all time,” Bilbo joked, grinning when Kíli broke into delighted laughter.

With four sets of hands it was short work to gather up everything they could fit into the trunk. They packed in the first aid kit, toilet paper, several changes of clothes, and as much foodstuff and bottled water as they could. In the back seat they added extra blankets and pillows and Bilbo pretended not to notice Fíli sneak several books under the seat. By mid-afternoon they were ready to leave.

Bilbo stepped out the door for the final time with his duffel bag and cast one last look at the fall-out shelter and his family home. “Goodbye,” He whispered, then they piled into the Pinto and were gone.

* * *

_Monday September, 16, 2019  
Des Moines, Iowa_

 

By the time they reached Des Moines, the car was running low on gas and Bilbo was starting to worry. “I don't imagine gas stations are operational anymore...”

Fíli laughed from the back seat, “Don't worry, Uncle has a really neat trick.”

“Yeah- just wait until we find a good parking lot!” Kíli giggled, his dark eyes sparkling as he leaned up between the front seats to peer out the window.

It was difficult for Bilbo to believe that scant months ago, Des Moines was a bustling metropolis. As they drove through the center of town, it became apparent that the plague had hit the city hard. Everywhere the roads were littered with trash and cars with shattered windows and missing tires. Vacant buildings lined the streets, their broken out windows leering like the jagged teeth of a open maw. The sky-walks, which once connected the taller buildings, jutted out at odd angles and led nowhere. 

“That's the 801 Grand!” Bilbo pointed at one of the tallest buildings. “45 stories, that one. I remember going there on school trips as a child...” 

“You've spent a lot of time around here?” Thorin questioned, a hopeful look lighting his face.

“Of course,” Answered Bilbo with a nod. “This is the largest city near home. Lots of shopping, lots of people, lots to do.” He paused looking again at the desolate landscape, “At least that's how it used to be...”

Thorin maneuvered the car around an overturned dumpster, “We need a large parking lot with lots of cars. Any ideas?”

“The HUB Tower. Take a left here,” Bilbo directed. “There is a mall on the lower levels and lots of offices above.”

They drove for a few minutes before Bilbo pointed to a tall building. “That's it- the brown one with all the windows. Parking is around back.”

There were easily two dozen cars in the lot when they pulled in and Thorin parked the Pinto towards the center. “Alright, boys. You know the drill. And stay close this time!” He glared at Kíli, clearly chastising him for some earlier misdeed.

“Yes, Uncle!” The boys chorused in unison, as they all climbed out of the car. As Thorin began pulling supplies from the trunk, his nephews moved to the surrounding cars, dangling bits of string down the gas tanks to check for fuel levels.

“This one should work!” Fíli cheered, motioning to an older gray pickup truck.

“Good work, boys.” Thorin set an empty gas can next to the truck and slid a clear hose into the gas tank. “Now keep an eye out while I work.”

Thorin put the hose to his lips and began sucking until the gas welled out. Coughing, he put the end of the hose into the gas can and watched as the liquid sluggishly siphoned out. It was slow going, but by the time the sky began to darken they had enough gas to fill more than half of the Pinto's tank.

“We'll finish up tomorrow,” Thorin said, peering into the gathering shadows as if he didn't trust the darkness. “Get back in the car.”

Bilbo didn't expect sleep to come easily, but the excitement of the day had worn him down. Curled up in a lumpy passenger seat and parked in the middle of a dead city, he felt oddly relaxed. While Thorin and Fíli quietly discussed the upcoming travel, and Kíli ticked off another day on his calender, Bilbo Baggins slept.

* * *

_Tuesday September, 17, 2019  
Des Moines, Iowa_

 

The next morning Bilbo awoke to the sound of frantic whispers from the back seat of the car. Turning slightly, he saw Kíli burying his face in the crook of his brother's neck, muffling his cries in the fabric of Fíli's hoodie. “Shh... It's alright. You're awake now.” 

Kíli pulled back and wiped his nose on his sleeve. “Stupid nightmares. I don't even remember what they're about. I hate them, Fee.”

“I know,” Fíli shushed him. “Come on, now. Uncle and Bilbo will be waking up soon.”

Bilbo waited a few minutes, then made a show of stretching and pretending to wake. “Oh, good morning boys,” He yawned.

“Morning!” They chorused, all traces of Kíli's nightmare gone from their faces.

They climbed out of the car and sat on the hood with granola bars and bottles of water, the boys devolving into a good-natured argument over some television show they used to watch. Thorin soon joined them, pulling on a sweater to keep out the chill in the air, “Alright. This morning we need to finish filling up the gas tank, then we'll make for Ashland.”

Taking that as directive, they got to work searching for full gas tanks among the abandoned cars. Bilbo watched Kíli measure the fuel level of an old station wagon, marveling over the inventiveness of their gas gauging technique, when a strange scuffling noise caught his attention. “What was that?”

“I'm not sure.” Kíli looked up, glancing around the parking lot. “Uncle Thorin? Did you hear that noise?”

Thorin looked up from where he was siphoning fuel into the gas can, instantly on edge. “What noise?”

“Dunno.” Kíli frowned and tilted his head. “Did you hear it, Fee?” His eyes darted across the lot to where his brother had been, a panicked look creeping over his face. “Fee?”

“Is this what yer lookin' for?” Came a gravelly voice as two heavyset men in black stocking caps stepped out of the shadows. One of them was holding Fíli, his hand clamped over the boy's mouth, a knife to his throat.

“Fee!” Bilbo barely reacted in time to grab Kíli and keep him from rushing to his brother. The younger boy struggled against his grasp, whimpering and pulling as he tried to break free.

“Let him go!” Thorin demanded steadily, though his eyes betrayed his fear.

The first man laughed, “I dunno, Bert. Wha'cha think? Should we let the brat go?”

“No way, Tom.” The second man grinned wickedly, “I think we got us a pretty little bargaining chip here.”

Thorin clenched his fists, eyeballing the men as if trying to determine if he could fight them both without further endangering Fíli. “Let. Him. Go.”

“You ain't understanding, man,” Tom replied. “We need a ride outta here, so you're gonna give us your car. Otherwise Bert is gonna have himself a nice new toy.”

Bert ran a caressing finger over Fíli's cheek, causing the boy to flinch and let out a small wail. “And such a soft thing, he is. I'll have fun breaking him.”

“Maybe we should skip the car and just take the boy back to Bill.” Tom cackled as he licked his lips, moving his face dangerously close to Fíli's. “A fun little present like this might be just what he needs...”

“Wait!” Bilbo shouted as his mind raced to form a plan. “Why do you need our car? We're in a parking lot _full_ of cars!”

Tom frowned, “We ain't got the keys to none of those cars. But we'll trade the boy for the keys to yers.”

Bilbo squeezed Kíli's shoulder gently, trying to be reassuring, but feeling the boy tremble under his hand. “I rather think you could hot-wire most any car here.”

“Hot-wire? Like on the cop shows?” Bert glowered, “I dunno how to do that.”

Unsure of what else to do, Bilbo kept stalling, hoping something would inspire a plan. “I could show you. But first you have to let the boy go.”

“We ain't idiots!” Tom snorted, tugging the stocking cap over his ears. “We let him go and you guys'll run.”

Bilbo's mind raced, but he found himself completely out of ideas. He glanced at Thorin, who was clenching and un-clenching his fists with a decidedly frantic look. 

The sudden roar of an engine distracted everyone, as a Harley Davidson motorcycle roared into the parking lot. Thorin recovered first and barreled at Tom, tackling the man to the concrete with a heavy thud. Fíli's eyes went wide, then he dropped his legs out from under himself, rolling free of his captor. Bert turned to grab for Fíli, but the boy was already sprinting across the pavement to where Bilbo and Kíli stood. The younger boy broke loose and drove at his brother, hugging him tightly as Bilbo pulled them both back towards the car. Suddenly, Thorin found himself fighting a loosing battle against both men. Bert's knife glanced off his shoulder, slicing the flesh and staining his shirt crimson with blood. The motorcycle skidded to a stop and two helmeted figures dismounted, one barreling headfirst into the fight. Within minutes it was apparent that the tides had turned and Bert and Tom were going to loose the scuffle. They broke free of the fight and raced off down the street, stumbling over themselves and screaming obscenities as they went.

Thorin struggled to his feet and regarded the motorcyclist with apprehension, clearly not sure whether he was dealing with friend or foe. “I owe you my thanks.”

“You owe me a proper bloody greeting, is what you owe me,” The man replied, pulling his helmet off and tossing it aside.

“Dwalin?” Thorin stared for a moment in confusion before reaching out to clasp the other man's shoulder. “What are you doing here?”

“Apparently saving your sorry ass,” Dwalin laughed as the other rider removed his helmet and walked over to them. “You remember my brother, Balin.”

Bilbo looked up from where he was inspecting Fíli for injuries, his hands doing more resting on the boy's shoulders than pressing all over to check for harm. Dwalin looked like a soldier in his camouflage pants and a brown leather jacket that strained across his muscular shoulders. His head and hands were covered with tattoos and a dark, scruffy beard coated his face. Balin, on the other hand, seemed like he could be someone's grandfather with his prematurely white hair and a long white beard that stood out against his red jacket. Bilbo felt out of place as both of the men greeted Thorin with a fond familiarity, exchanging rugged smiles and firm handshakes.

“You remember by nephews, Fíli and Kíli?” Thorin nodded to the boys with a proud smile, “They're a bit bigger then the last time you saw them.”

Dwalin inspected the boys with scrutiny before turning to Fíli, “Nice job getting yourself out of danger, lad. I take it your uncle gave you some lessons?”

Fíli blushed, looking slightly uncomfortable under the praise and nodded. “Yeah. He showed us a few tricks before we left home.”

“Good man.” Dwalin looked back to Thorin, “It's good to see you again. Unexpected, but good.”

“Er, Thorin...” Bilbo started. “Not to interrupt this reunion, but you appear to be bleeding.”

Looking down at his shoulder Thorin uttered a low growl, “It's just a scratch. I'm fine.”

“I'm fairly certain you'll be more fine if you clean that cut before it gets infected,” Bilbo said with a sigh, retrieving a tube of first aid cream from the car.

Thorin rolled his eyes as he tugged off the bloody shirt and tossed it to the side, clearly unconcerned with the injury. He dug through the trunk looking for a spare garment, but Kíli's sudden laughter caught his attention. “Something funny, lad?”

“We didn't know you had a tattoo!” Kíli snorted, staring at his uncle with undisguised amusement dancing in his dark eyes.

“It was a drunken college mistake,” Thorin frowned and absently reached up to touch the angular key design inked into his chest. 

Fíli grinned and tucked one of his braids back behind his ear, “And you say we're impulsive!” The boys dissolved into laughter, the proximity to each other overriding their fear from the attack.

Bilbo noticed that the two newcomers were staring intently at Thorin's tattoo, so he took a closer look himself, trying not to notice the smooth muscles of the other man's chest. “That's a rather odd design for a key. Any particular meaning behind it?”

“I was drinking at the bar with some friends and the next morning it was there. I don't even remember getting it.” Thorin tugged on a clean shirt and turned to Dwalin, “What are you two doing out here?”

Dwalin exchanged a long look with his brother before answering, “We were working at a Protection Camp, but we left because they were getting a little... _insistent_ with their methods of protection.”

“Excuse me,” Bilbo interrupted, feeling slightly put out, but not wanting to forget his manners. “We haven't met, but I'm Bilbo Baggins. How do you know Thorin and what exactly is a Protection Camp?”

“Dwalin and Balin. My brother then Thorin went through school together.” It was the later who offered an explanation, “The official word is that they're a place where people who aren't infected can go to escape the plague. They're set up inside fences and scattered throughout the country. Unfortunately, some of them tend to go more in the way of prisons...”

“If the patrols find you and you ain't a GOBO drone, into _protection_ you go.” Dwalin cracked his knuckles, “Not much choice in the matter.”

Bilbo frowned confusion, struggling to understand why someone would be taken into protection against their own will. “But why would they force people?”

“There ain't a hell of a lot of us left,” Dwalin growled. “Especially the women and children- the plague seems to take them quicker. They're even kept separate from the others in the camps.” He paced the concrete like a caged animal. “I saw men being drug away from their wives, heard children screaming... I couldn't be a part of that. So we left.”

Thorin nodded his understanding, “You're more than welcome to travel with us, old friend.”

“I'll have to discuss it with Balin first,” He nodded to his brother. They moved away, heads already bent in conversation as they separated themselves from the rest of the group.

Fíli and Kíli wandered over to their uncle and the three quietly examined their route on the map. Thorin reached over and ruffled Kíli's hair, laughing at something the youngest boy said.

Bilbo leaned against the hood of the car, half hidden in the shadows cast by the neighboring buildings. He couldn't see Dwalin and Balin, but if he strained, he could make out their whispered conversation.

“He has a key tattoo,” Dwalin wondered softly. “Do you think he could be the one?”

“I thought you didn't take much stock in what that old coot said, brother?” Came Balin's whispered response.

“I ain't saying I do, but the plague is spreading and things are just getting worse!” The anger was apparent even in the soft timbre in his voice. “At this point I'll take the prophetic ramblings of a drunken vagrant over doing nothing!”

Balin murmured his accord, “I agree, obviously. Which is why we're here.”

“The old gray-beard said we'd find the key-bearer in Des Moines. Thorin has a key tattoo. It's the best lead we have,” Dwalin replied quietly. 

“We should keep our suspicions quiet until we have some proof,” Balin whispered. “But until then, we travel with Thorin.”

Bilbo slid down beside the car and chewed on his lip, wondering what he had gotten himself in to.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, we're off and rolling now! Bilbo has decided to leave the safety of his fall-out shelter and join Thorin's quest. And he doesn't have any idea what lays in store...


	3. Quarantine

* * *

_Wednesday September, 18, 2019  
Ashland, Nebraska_

 

Bilbo watched out the window as Thorin maneuvered the Pinto between downed trees and abandoned cars, until he eventually pulled to a stop on the lawn of the Rivendell University quad. The campus was in an unnatural state of neglect; weeds overtook the flower beds and the lawn had grown to well over knee height. Shrubs that had once been neatly pruned into fanciful shapes, took on a monstrous form and branches jutted forth like angry claws from the scraggly trees. Most of the buildings that were close enough to see had obvious signs of rioting; smashed out windows, kicked in doors, and the lingering traces of fire that blackened the stone walls.

Dwalin killed the Harley's motor and glanced nervously around. “Can't we drive any closer? I ain't liking the idea of having to walk all the way across campus.”

Thorin climbed out of the car and slammed the door shut with a frown. “You might be able to on your motorcycle, but there's no way the Pinto will fit between all those trees.”

“Where exactly are we trying to go?” Bilbo asked, walking around the the car to where the others stood and peering into the distance.

“Imladris Hall, the professors quarters.” Thorin scanned the horizon and then pointed at a tall brick building with heavily fenced windows. “That's where Dori will be if...”

 _If he's still alive_ , Bilbo finished silently. He tried not to dwell on that thought, “Right then. It doesn't seem too far away. Maybe a twenty minute walks, tops.”

“The problem isn't the walk,” Balin said gently. “The problem is that there used to be thousands of students here and now there is nothing.”

“But if there's nothing, then why are you worried?” Bilbo questioned in genuine confusion.

Dwalin glowered, “Because all it would take is one corpse hidden in that damnable grass and we'd be done for. Those students had to go somewhere.”

Bilbo glanced nervously across the lawn, then looked over at the boys. Fíli was looking between the landscape and his brother, lines of worry carved deep into his brow. For his part, Kíli looked a little too excited by the prospect of adventure. Bilbo understood Fíli's worry and made a mental note to keep an eye on the youngest member of their company.

Thorin instructed them to fill their backpacks with essentials; then handed Bilbo a baseball bat and hefted one of his own. “Just in case,” he said gruffly, as Dwalin fitted a set of brass knuckles onto his fingers.

“Where's mine?” Fíli asked, holding out a hand expectantly.

“You don't get one, lad.” Thorin replied with a small laugh. “You'll be safe enough with us.”

“And what if something happens and we get separated? We can get attacked just as easily as you can!” Fíli growled, his eyes flashing with a unexpected amount of passion. “”All I want is to be able to protect myself and Kíli!”

Thorin looked at though he wanted to argue, but stopped himself with a sigh. “Fine. But you only use it if you have no other choice? Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Uncle,” Fíli took the proffered tire iron with a solemn nod and a glance at his brother, who surprisingly didn't ask for a weapon of his own.

They moved slowly towards Imladris Hall with Thorin in the lead. Balin walked beside him, using a long stick to push the grasses out of the way as he searched for signs of corpses. Bilbo found himself in the middle of the party with Fíli and Kíli, the older boy holding tight to his brother's sleeve. Dwalin brought up the rear and kept a look out for trouble, occasionally offering a suggestion on a section of terrain they needed to avoid.

Half way across the quad Balin froze, putting a hand to his ear and then pointing ahead of them. _Something's there!_ The group moved with more caution and attempted to skirt around the noise without drawing attention to themselves. Suddenly, a bulbous head popped up from the brush and looked straight at them.

“Are they here to help us, precious?” The man had bulging eyes and was unnaturally pale, though sweat dripped in rivulets from his forehead. “They're long gone. Only shadows now.”

“Who are you talking about?” Kíli asked and tried to move closer, only to be pulled back by his brother.

“The others. All dead... all rotten...” The man's cough was a violent twitch in his throat. “Eyes always watching us. Pain never leaves us. Never alone.”

Bilbo swallowed thickly, a painful knot wedging itself in his throat. “Are we going to help him?”

“No,” Thorin's voice was low and even and left no room for argument. “We're going to back away very slowly and hope he doesn't think to follow us.”

The man looked at them with unfocused eyes. “If he comes close we will wring his filthy little neck!” His fists waved agitatedly as he cried, “Kill him! Kill him!”

Thorin and Balin led them carefully away, while Dwalin walked backwards and kept his eyes trained on the man. Luck was on their side and they were not followed. The man simply sat in the grasses and stared at them, his shoulders slumped, his howling cries sounding unnaturally loud and eerie in the silence.

As they drew closer to Imladris Hall, the grassy yard was replaced by pavement and the company didn't have to watch their steps quite so much.

“What was wrong with that man?” Bilbo stopped for a moment, looking back across the quad. “Why didn't we help him?”

Thorin turned to look at him with a tired sigh, “You'd best forget about him. He'll be a goblin before too long.”

“Goblin?” Bilbo frowned, looking at the others in confusion. “What ever do you mean?”

Fíli looked down and turned the tire iron over in his hands. “That's what we call the ones with the plague.”

“Why?” Bilbo had a difficult time wrapping his head around the fact that he had just seen the early stages of the epidemic.

“Gregarious Onset Brochopulmonary Occlude. Or GOBO Virus for short.” Fíli rattled off the name, then looked up with a slightly embarrassed grin. 

Dwalin snorted, “Fancy name for 'makes you violent, then chokes the life outta you.' Just wait until you see your first _real_ one.”

“Anyway, Kíli started calling them goblins and the nickname stuck.” Fíli beamed at his brother, “Awesome, right?”

Bilbo watched the way Kíli puffed up at the complement, then nodded. “Yeah. I do believe it's the perfect thing to call them.”

 

* * *

Imladris Hall loomed above them like a fortress, the dark brick of the building and wrought iron window bars adding to the garrison feel. If there were survivors, Bilbo had no doubt that this was where they would be. The building probably had old-world charm in the days before the plague, but the destruction of the world had stolen the last vestiges of charm and replaced it with an easily defensible durability. The heavy steal door opened just as they reached it, revealing a tall man in a bio-hazard suit.

“Err. Hello,” Bilbo said, struggling to remembering his manners. “I'm Bilbo Baggins. This is Thorin Oakenshield and his nephews. And Balin and Dwalin... well, I don't rightly know their family name...”

“Saruman. Head of the Department of Antediluvian History,” He replied haughtily. “Dori was hoping you'd arrive, though I'm afraid we'll have to make sure you're not contaminated before we'll be able to let you inside.”

Thorin growled and moved to push past Saruman, but Bilbo quickly interceded, “That will be fine. None of us are infected, but we'll respect your wishes. What do you need us to do?”

“Follow me.” Saruman waited for company to enter before pushing the heavy door closed and bolting it. He led them down a long stone-tiled hallway where a series of doors had been reinforced with steel and opened one. “You can wait in here.”

The room they were ushered into was sparsely furnished, but clean. A row of dorm bunks could easily sleep ten people, each topped with a pillow and folded bedding. A sturdy table sat in the far corner, the four accompanying chairs boasting uneven legs from heavy use. The only other thing in the room was a small bookcase containing out-dated text books and a stack of college brochures. There were two doors, the one they had entered through, and the other leading to a standard institutional bathroom, tiny but well-stocked with soaps and towels.

The door slammed shut behind them, followed by the sound of a heavy bolt being slid into place. Saruman's masked face peered through a small window inset in the door. “Your timer starts now. Someone will be by twice a day to bring food and check that you haven't gone feral. If you're still clean in three days time we will let you enter the building proper.” Without so much as an apology or backwards glance, Saruman left.

Thorin threw himself at the door, beating his fists against the heavily unforced wood with an angry growl. “You can't leave us locked up in here! We're not beasts!” He screamed for several minutes, while Dwalin checked the door for weaknesses, but no one came to let them out.

“I appears that we're stuck here, laddies,” Balin said gently. “We might as well get some rest while we're able.” He walked to one of the bunks and began making up the bed- spreading the sheets and blanket over the mattress and fluffing the pillow. Bilbo jumped quickly at the opportunity to help and soon the two of them had made up enough beds for everyone to sleep comfortably.

Dusk gathered outside their tiny window and the flickering light cast by the single lantern did little to ease the gloom. Thorin and Dwalin had seated themselves at the table, discussing the Protection Camps and life before the plague. Balin had disappeared into the adjacent bathroom; the sound of running water filtered softly through the door, along with the quiet humming of what might have been a hymn. Fíli and Kíli sat on one of the farthest beds, shoulder-to-shoulder as the younger boy examined his calender and the older leafed through a college pamphlet. Bilbo shook his head and started towards them, but was interrupted by Thorin.

“You should sit with us.”

“Erm. All right then,” Bilbo stuttered, moving to an empty chair. “So...”

“Thorin tells me he found you in a hole in the ground,” Dwalin said gruffly.

“Well, yes,” Bilbo stammered. “But it wasn't an actual hole full of dirt and bugs or anything of the sort!”

Dwalin smirked, obviously amused with flustering the other man. “No worries. I lived in worse holes myself when I served overseas.”

“Overseas?” Bilbo paused, looking at the tattooed man with interest. “You were a soldier?”

“Aye. Afghanistan, 2011. Iraq, 2013. Kuwait 2016.” He shrugged, “Never thought the worst battlefield I'd see would be so close to home.”

They sat silent for a long time, each apparently lost in his own thoughts. Eventually Bilbo looked across the room and noticed the boys curled up together, fast asleep. 

“Have they always been like this?” He asked softly. “This close?”

“They were always very close, but after their mother...” Thorin sighed heavily, “Kíli stopped sleeping. The only way he could close his eyes without nightmares was if Fíli was with him.”

“But he still has nightmares,” Bilbo pointed out. “I hear him every morning.”

Thorin nodded slowly, “Once the plague started they got worse. But as long as Fíli is there, he seems to sleep most of the way through the night.” He looked at his nephews with a sad fondness. “You can't separate them now. I think being apart would kill them.”

Bilbo frowned and tried to choose his words carefully, not wanting to offend. “Don't you think their co-dependence is a little unnatural?”

“Look around, Bilbo!” Thorin growled, his face contorting with silent anger. “There is nothing natural left!”

A guilt-ridden heat burned through Bilbo and he stared down at his hands, ashamed. “I do believe you're right.” He looked up slowly and met Thorin's eyes, “I'm sorry.”

Thorin nodded, the ire draining from his face. “I can't deny them anything that might make this more bearable. They're all I have left in this world.”

“They're good boys,” Dwalin said, briefly clasping Thorin's arm. “And they've got the right idea. I'm going to grab some shut-eye.” He pushed his chair back from the table, ambling off towards the bunks and leaving the other two men alone.

“He's right, you know,” Bilbo said after a moment. “They _are_ good boys. And they're lucky to have each other. And you.”

“I'm lucky to have them. They're the only thing that makes this fight worth it.” Thorin's mouth turned up in a sad smile, “I just wish they could have had normal lives. This is no world for them to grow up in.”

“What were they like before all of this?” Bilbo asked curiously. He was starting to find it difficult to remember what life was like before the plague.

“Before?” Thorin chuckled darkly. “They were the same boys, just in a different life. Fíli was still quiet and cautious and forever looking out for his brother. What you don't see now is how ridiculously intelligent he is! Reading everything, at the top of his class, and already looking into colleges!” Thorin threw his hands up in a desperate gesture, “He could have had any life he wanted, and this is what he got saddled with. Being trapped in this room is probably the closest he'll ever get to college now.”

Bilbo bit his lip and choked back the emotions that threatened to overtake him. “What about Kíli?”

“Kíli is still Kíli,” Thorin said with a sigh. “He's still curious and energetic and so full of life that sometimes it hurts to look at him.”

“And that worries you?” Bilbo asked, seeing the concern written clearly on the other man's face.

“Sometimes I wonder what's holding him together. The rest of us have grown darker in this world, but Kíli shines just as bright as he always has. It seems the only time he's affected by this world is in his dreams.”

“Maybe that's a good thing.” He suggested, looking over at the sleeping boys. “Maybe we all need that little bit of laughter to remind us that we're still alive.”

Thorin considered that for a moment, then nodded. “I think you're right. No matter how black the night, there is always light to be found.”

“Speaking of our little light...” Bilbo started cautiously. “I'm quite curious about that calender he carries around.”

“Honestly, I have no idea. He found it right after we left home and uses it to keep track of the days.” Thorin shrugged helplessly, “It's rather interesting to know how much time has passed. Not that it actually matters anymore...”

Bilbo nodded, “Why don't you just ask Kíli about it?”

“No!” Thorin whispered harshly. “I made that mistake once and he ran off. It took us an hour to find him- I've never been so scared! I have no idea why it upset him so much, but Fíli made me promise never to ask again. I'm not even sure Fíli understands it.”

“Perhaps it gives him a sense of normalcy? Something he has control over?” Bilbo wondered out loud as a companionable silence filled the room.

* * *

 

_Saturday September 21, 2019  
Ashland, Nebraska_

 

By the third full day of quarantine, the padlocked room in Imladris Hall had become unbearably small. Dwalin paced the length of the room like a caged animal, cursing and snapping at anyone who so much as looked at him wrong. Thorin stood sentry at the door, glaring stoically out the small window as if sheer force of will would bring someone to release them from their captivity. Fíli had found a kindred spirit in Balin- the two of them poured over an old text book, remarking quietly to each other about whatever it was they were reading. 

Bilbo watched them all with a wry amusement. Mostly though, he watched Kíli. The youngest member of their company was bubbling over with undirected energy and no way to spend it. He had inspected every square inch of the room, turned cartwheels across the floor, built a fort out of mattress, and was currently timing himself to see how long he could do a handstand for. Bilbo was glad their confinement was almost over, because he was certain that Kíli would implode if he were trapped one more day. Either that or one of the others would kill the boy. Probably Dwalin, whom Kíli had doggedly taken to annoying with questions about tattoos and fighting and, of all things, women.

“But I thought girls _liked_ tough guys with tattoos?” Kíli asked, still upside down in a handstand.

“Just because I don't have a woman doesn't mean I couldn't _get_ a woman!” Dwalin growled, obviously fed up with the line of questioning. “Go bother someone else with your questions! Isn't that what older brothers are for?”

Fíli's head snapped up, a bright blush creeping up his neck. “Uh, no... I don't think so...”

Kíli gave up on his handstand and tipped himself over. “You're blushing, Fee!” He grinned wickedly at his brother.

“I am not.” Fíli replied, obviously lying as he tried to hide his face with the text book.

Snorting, Kíli sat down next to his brother and nudged him with his shoulder. “Are too!”

“Fine. I'm blushing,” Fíli sighed. “But we're _not_ going to sit here and talk about girls! Especially not with _them_ in the room!”

Kíli laughed, clearly enjoying his brother's embarrassment.

Luckily for Fíli, the door opened and a bio-hazard suited man entered with a good cart. “Dinner. And as long as you're still human at day break we'll be unlocking the door.”

“About time!” Thorin roared at the retreating figure.

* * *

_Sunday September 22, 2019  
Ashland, Nebraska_

 

They were all awake when the door opened to reveal a well-groomed man wearing tan slacks and a goldenrod blazer. “Good morning! I see you've all made it through the quarantine. I am Elrond, Dean of Rivendell University. Welcome!”

“Pleased to meet you, I'm sure,” Bilbo stuttered, when the others stool in bemused silence. “I'm Bilbo Baggins. This is Thorin Oakenshield, the boys are his nephews. And here is Dwalin and Balin... oh dear, I still don't know your surname, do I?”

Thorin sighed and took over the conversation, “We're here to see Dori. He said he had some information on the plague... and other things.”

“You would do well not to carry secrets here,” Elrond said, arching his brow. “If any of us are to survive the coming days we must work in tandem.”

When Thorin responded with silence, Elrond frowned and gestured to the door. “It may be early in the day, but I think we could all use a drink to sooth our spirits. The professors here have a small makeshift pub on the second floor. Dori will be meeting us there.”

“Now that sounds like a good plan!” Dwalin said and led the way out the door.

They traveled up one flight of stairs and down a long narrow hallway, their spirits lightened by the prospect of drink and information. The flames from the lanterns made shadows dance across the stone floors as the walked, their footsteps echoing softly off the high-beamed ceilings.

“There are four professors left here. Myself, Saruman from Antediluvian Histories, Dori teaches Economics, and Galadriel- she's the head of the Humanities Department...” Elrond droned on, filling up the silence as they walked. “There are half a dozen others as well... Dori's siblings, and a few undergraduates who had no where else to go.”

They turned a corner and found themselves in what appeared to be a modified classroom. Thick rugs covered the floors giving a room a cozy feel that was echoed in the heavy draperies and softly upholstered arm chairs. Several booths and tables lined one wall and a long lab counter served as a bar. The obvious focal point of the room was an entire wall of bookshelves was stocked with bottles. 

“Ah, here we are!” Elrond smiled. “The Last Homely House!”

Dwalin stopped dead in his tracked, causing Bilbo to run into his back. “The last what?!”

“The Last Homely House,” Elrond repeated in confusion. “It's just a pet name we've given the place...”

“Fuck me,” Dwalin swore, his face unnaturally pale. “Thorin. We gotta talk. Now.”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to take a minute to thank you darlings for the feedback/kudos/follows! I really love your hearing your thoughts and comments on the story. What did you think of this chapter?
> 
> In the next update will you'll meet some new characters (including one of my favorites to write!) and find out more about the prophecy and the mysterious note on Thorin's map. Any guesses as to what will happen next?


	4. The Last Homely House

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the reviews, favorites, follows, and PMs! You darlings are seriously amazing!

* * *

_Sunday September 22, 2019  
Ashland, Nebraska_

 

The company grabbed seats at a long table in the Last Homely House, with Thorin at the head and Dwalin to his left. Bilbo took a seat at Thorin's right and sat quietly as Elrond brought around bottles of beer and soda and airline-sized bags of peanuts.

“Here's the deal,” Dwalin drummed his fingers heavily on the tabletop. “A week before Balin and I left the Protection Camp, this old gray-beard showed up- he just sort of appeared inside the gates one morning, no one could remember bringing him in. Called himself Stormcrow. I thought he ain't nothing but a drunk old-timer, but there was this damned clarity in his eyes...” Dwalin pushed away from the table, pacing the room in frantic vexation while he continued the story. “He came straight to Balin and me, said the world was ending, but that we could help to save it. Told us to go to Des Moines and find the key-bearer... We were leaving anyway, so...”

“So you went to Des Moines and you found us. And saw my tattoo,” Thorin frowned skeptically, raising one hand to rub at the tattoo through the thin fabric of his shirt.

“Yes! But we still didn't believe in his damned prophecy!” Dwalin slammed his fist against the wall. “Balls!”

“Prophecy?” Thorin's eyebrows disappeared into his hairline.

“There was a whole prophecy. He even made Balin write it down- said the wording was important.” He rubbed a hand over his head in frustration, “We thought the whole thing was shit, but then Elrond here started spouting off about the Last Homely House ...”

“Dwalin!” Thorin roared, effectively silencing the other man. “Read us the damned prophecy and we can judge for ourselves.”

Balin reached into his jacket and removed a small square of paper. He unfolded it carefully and cleared his throat.

“When the End of All comes  
he who bears the Key will  
enter the Last Homely House  
and a company will be formed.

They will cross the Misty Mountains  
and find help in the Bear's den.  
When the battle for Erebor is won  
they will seek and free Valinor.

Then, only then, will Mahal's Pride  
begin to re-forge the world.”

He sat the paper on the tabletop and regarded the others. “I've done a little thinking and I can't recall any actual mountain ranges called the Misty Mountains. And neither Erebor nor Valinor rings a bell with me. But looking at the way certain words are capitalized, my guess is that there are six signs. And now we've seen two of them.”

“And we know something about a third,” Thorin's voice sounded resigned. “This is the second time I've heard the name Valinor.” He pulled out his map and spread it across the table. “ _Mahal's Pride must seek Valinar_. My father left that note for a reason.”

“Mahal's Pride,” Balin frowned. “Why does that sound vaguely familiar?”

“Mahal was one of the old gods.” A quiet voice came from the doorway where a man in his early twenties, wearing a great deal of knitwear, stood with a moleskin notebook tucked under his arm. “Sorry! I'm Dori's youngest brother. Ori- at your service!” The others nodded their greetings as Ori and Dori joined them at the table.

“Sorry to interrupt, but it seems we arrived just in time.” Dori brushed at an invisible spot on his mulberry-colored jacket. “It's good to see you, Thorin.”

“You too, Dori,” Thorin replied dryly, taking a pull from his beer. “You were saying something about Mahal?”

Ori fidgeted with the lilac trim on his scarf, “I did research work for Professor Lindir last semester, one of those archaic religions classes they offer every couple of years. Without the power I can't access the computer database, but I should still have my original notes filed away somewhere...”

“Somewhere you can get to them, I hope?” Dwalin asked, having regained his composure.

“Yes! Lindir's office is upstairs. I'll go right now and find them!” He didn't wait for an answer and scurried off down the hall, leaving the others to continue their discussion.

Thorin turned to Dori with an appraising look, “We came out here because you said you had information on Valinor. I think now that knowledge has become doubly important.”

“I don't know how much help it will be, but I did learn that the Valinor Corporation is a pharmaceutical company in San Francisco, California,” Dori huffed.

“Pharmaceuticals?” Balin tugged at his beard. “It seems like too much of a coincidence for two signs to name Valinor. Especially since the reports were saying that the GOBO Virus started on the west coast.”

“I don't believe in coincidence,” Thorin said resolutely. “But I do believe in fate.”

“And now we know where we're heading,” Bilbo added, having felt left out of the conversation. “If it's really a prophecy, we'll find the other signs along the way.”

“Or they'll find you.” All eyes turned to look at Elrond, who had stood up and moved away from the table. “I wish you all the luck in the world on this quest, but I am taking my leave now. My place is here watching over my people. This task is yours and yours alone.” Before anyone had a chance to reply, he was out the door, passing Ori and another man who were on their way in.

“I found the notes!” Ori said with a shy grin. “And Nori as well. The middle brother.”

Nori glared at the floor and looked less then thrilled to be included in the meeting. He picked absently at a hole in the hem of his black anarchy t-shirt, the light glinting off the piercings in his left ear, nose, and lip. “S'up.”

“Whoa! He has a mohawk!” Kíli whispered, a little too loudly, only to be shushed by his brother.

Thorin rolled his eyes and motioned for the brothers to sit down. “Alright, Ori, what do we know about Mahal?”

“Like I said before- he's one of the old gods... The ones who haven't been heard from in generations. I doubt anyone even believes in them anymore.” He consulted his notes, lips moving slightly as he scanned the words. “According to legends, Mahal was one the Vala- these god spirits that came to the world and put things in order. I don't think they were actually gods... the translations are a little confusing... There are quite a few of them mentioned- Manwë, Yavanna, Morgoth... From what I can tell, Mahal was called The Maker and built things like mountains and continents. Apparently, he created a whole race of people so that he could teach them his craft. He made them strong and unyielding and showed them the beauty of the world.”

“How does this help?” Dwalin growled, slumping down into his seat in frustration. “How does any of this help?”

“What if this Mahal god, or spirit, or whatever is actually real?” Fíli hedged softly. “I mean, it doesn't _seem_ logical, but nothing else that's happening does either.”

Balin knit his fingers together and looked sadly pensive.

“Seriously?” Nori snorted, rolling his eyes so hard they disappeared into the back of his head before righting themselves. “Gods don't exist.”

“Hey! Don't talk to my brother that way, jerk!” Kíli glared at him fiercely, his hands clenched into fists.

“Ooo- I'm scared!” Nori waved his hands in mock terror. “Whatever, little man.” With another theatrical eye roll he stomped to the far side of the room and lit a cigarette, drawing heavily from it and exhaling a thick ring of smoke into the air.

Dori frowned and worried his fingers together. “Sorry about him. I'm not sure what's gotten into him lately. Honestly, he's a good boy...”

“Back to the discussion at hand,” Thorin interrupted, looking profoundly irritated. “Let's suspend disbelief for a minute and assume this Mahal is real. Then what?”

“Mahal! Come and help us, you fucker!” Nori shouted at the ceiling, startling everyone. “If you're this great and powerful god, why don't you come down here and _do_ something!?” Laughing, he took a long drag from his cigarette and leaned back against the wall with a shrug. “Guess the bastard ain't real.”

“Yes, well, that's very helpful.” Bilbo glared at Nori, who flipped him off in response. “Trying to be a little more productive here, if Mahal were actually real, I would imagine we should figure out where he might be.”

“And what he has to do with the Valinar Corporation,” Dwalin added. “And with Thorin for that matter.”

“I have a bit of an idea on that,” Balin said with a slight smile. “The prophecy and the map both talk about Mahal's Pride. The way the wording is makes it seem like this Pride is opposing Valinor. It uses the words _seek_ and _free_ and talks about rebuilding the world. I believe Mahal's Pride is meant to end the plague.”

Dori tapped a knuckle against his jaw in thought. “And Thorin is this Pride?”

“No. Thorin is the key-bearer. The leader. I think Mahal's Pride is referring to the group he travels with. I think it's us.”

Kíli tipped his head to the side, dark hair falling over his shoulders. “Pride? Like he's proud of us?”

“No way! Pride like a group. Like a pride of lions!” Fíli replied and gave his brother a dimpled smile.

“Pfft! You _look_ like a lion, Fee!” The younger boy taunted, eyes flashing with mischief.

“Do not!” Fíli lunged at his brother, tackling him to the floor and pinning him in place. “Take it back!”

“Never!” Kíli shouted with a laugh as he struggled to free himself.

Fíli shifted his weight so he could drag his fingers over his brother's sides, tickling the smaller boy with a devilish grin. “Take it back, Kíli!”

“N-not fair!” Kíli shrieked out between giggles. “I'm s-sorry! S-stop!”

With a laugh, Fíli let go of his brother, leaning back with a smirk. “You keep forgetting I'm bigger then you.”

Kíli grinned and socked the older boy lightly on the shoulder, “For now.”

“Boys?” Thorin's voice was vaguely disproving, but he couldn't hide the smile on his face. “Were you trying to make a point before getting distracted?”

“What?” Kíli scrunched up his face in thought. “Oh! We were trying to figure out if it's Pride like being proud, or Pride like a group of lions?”

“Which do you think it is, Uncle?” Fíli questioned as he sat back down at the table, dragging his brother under his arm and ruffling his hair.

“I'm not sure, lads. It's not my riddle.” Thorin pondered the homonym for a moment, rubbing a hand over his tired eyes.

“I would imagine it's both.” Bilbo ran a hand through his hair as he gathered his thoughts. “You- or we, I suppose- are the ones on this blasted quest... So, we're a pride, as in a group. But also, I rather think this Mahal fellow would likely be proud of the very fact that we're even going to attempt said quest... So, anyway. Yes. I do believe it's both.” He nodded decisively.

Ori looked up from his notes and cleared his throat, shyly trying to get everyone's attention. “So, uh, apparently there is going to be some great Final Battle that will end the world. The heroes are supposed to defeat this great evil and that will start the world being remade. And after that battle, a time will come where the gods will come back and walk among us... oh...” He trailed off, eyes abnormally wide.

“Ori?” Dori scampered to his brother's side, looking at the younger boy with thinly veiled concern. “What is it?”

“I think I know where to find Mahal.”

A strange silence settled over the room as all eyes turned towards Ori. The young man twittered nervously, clearly uncomfortable at being the center of attention.

“You know where to find him? Fíli asked excitedly. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table with a wild grin. “That's brilliant!”

Ori blushed at the complement and tugged anxiously at his cardigan. “Well, I have a working theory anyways. Mahal is sometimes called Aulë, which roughly translates to _crimson mountain_. And his mansions are supposed to be located north of the site of the Final Battle.” He looked expectantly at the others, obviously waiting for them to catch on to his brainstorm. When no one spoke he continued, “If we figure this battle is going to be at the Valinar Corporation, then it narrows down the search radius. I think Mahal is in Red Bluff, California.”

Bilbo frowned, his brow knitting in concern at he regarded Thorin's map. “That sounds entirely plausible, but Red Bluff is way further north then where our map is leading us.”

“Plus, it's off the main roads,” Thorin added with a grimace. “There's no way of knowing what's going on up there.”

“But we have to go, don't we, Uncle?” Kíli fidgeted in his seat. “The prophecy says...”

“We don't know for sure that it is a prophecy!” Thorin roared his interruption. Kíli's face fell and he looked dejected and ashamed. “I'm sorry, lad. I didn't mean to yell at you. There's just no way...”

Balin, ever the peacemaker, stepped in to explain. “Travel is difficult enough on the main highways, with all the debris and abandoned cars. You've seen us skirting around it for days now. The back roads are even worse- there are numerous roads that were dirt or gravel to begin with and there's been no upkeep, so many of them are completely impassible. We might not even be able to _get_ to Red Bluff.” He sighed heavily. “And you're still talking about finding a _god_. This isn't Greek mythology, gods don't just walk among us. If they even exist...”

“But we have to try? Right? Kíli asked softly, clearly worried about being reprimanded again. Fíli slung an arm around his brother's shoulder to reassure him.

Dwalin stroked his beard absently, “The prophecy doesn't actually say anything about needing Mahal himself. Everything we have talks about the Pride, not the god. Spirit. Thing.”

“That's a good point!” Thorin agreed, clearly relieved to have been given a valid argument that worked in his favor. “So, we'll continue to the coast as originally planned.”

“I'll go.” Ori's voice was so soft it was almost inaudible. “I will go north and find Mahal.”

The silence in the room was overwhelming. All eyes were on Ori, though the looks ranged from excitement to concern to disbelief to open terror.

“Absolutely not!” Dori shrieked, glaring at his youngest brother with panic in his eyes. “I am not allowing you to trek off on some fool's errand!”

“I can do this, Dori! I can find Mahal and get him to help us!” Ori's words were quiet, but held an air of surety and resolve that left no one doubting what he was saying. “I _need_ to do this!”

“But why? We're safe enough here. Why would you leave?” Dori's eyes glistened with unshed tears.

“I'm 23 years old and I've done nothing but study and sit quietly and behave. And now, I'm hiding in a college, waiting to die!” Ori's voice was an fervent plead. “I want to do something with my life! I want it all to mean something in the end! To be worth something! If I die, then it'll be with the knowledge that I was trying to make a difference in this forsaken world!”

The impassioned speech made Bilbo's heart swell in his chest. Looking around, he found looks of pride mirrored in the faces of the other members of the company. For the first time in years he felt as though he was a part of something greater than himself. Something important. Something worth fighting for. He knew, in that moment, that he would give his life to the cause, to the prophecy, and to his friends. 

“The road can be dangerous,” Dwalin said with an unusual softness. He looked at Ori with a mix of respect and concern. “How will you manage?”

“I was a sure-shot with my sling as a child. I'll be fine.” Ori replied with a joking shrug, as if trying to sound more assured than he felt.

“And he won't be alone,” Nori spoke up, surprising everyone. “What? You think I'm gonna let my brother have all the fun while I'm stuck here with these boring fucks? No thanks!”

Ori beamed at his brother, obvious relief showing on his face. “Thanks, Nori. I was hoping you'd join me...”

“You'd never make it without me.” Nori laughed harshly, stubbing out his cigarette on the edge of the table. “What- would you ride your bicycle all the way to Cali?” Ori blushed, obviously having not put much thought into the actual journey. “I think Lindir left his Charger in the back lot. I, uh, borrowed it once- it'll get us there fast enough.”

“You're going to steal a car?!” Dori moaned. “No, no, no! This won't do!” He stood and fretted around the room for a long moment, obviously struggling with his brothers decisions to leave. “I suppose I'll have to come with you. Someone has to make sure you two stay safe and remember to eat your vegetables!”

“Then it's decided.” Thorin brought his first down hard on the tabletop. “Ori will lead his brothers to Red Bluff to try and find Mahal. The rest of us will continue to the coast and try to suss out what we can about the plague and the prophecy along the way.” He frowned, plainly trying to work out some flaw in the plan. “We'll stay here another week or so until you've got a solid course of action and several routes of travel mapped out. You'll need to get outfitted with supplies and we'll have to fill you in on what life is like out there. You've missed a lot being holed up in here.”

Ori swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. Having spread out their maps and notes, the company began to plan.

* * *

_Friday October 4, 2019  
Ashland, Nebraska_

 

Bilbo was amazed at how much planning it took to ready Ori and his brothers for their journey to Red Bluff. When he had chosen to join Thorin and the boys, it had been a spur-of-the-moment decision, and he had left with a hurriedly packed duffel bag and no idea as to what he was getting himself into. Ori's family, on the other hand, were going to be leaving with all the knowledge and plans the others could think of to heap on them. Thorin had spent hours telling them about the roads and the goblins and the wreck of a world outside the college walls, trying to prepare them for all the darkness they were likely to encounter. Balin stepped in to properly explain what they knew about the plague and how it was spread, hoping to keep the others safe from infection. Even Dwalin seemed eager to help- offering to teach some basic self-defense techniques to the younger two brothers in order to help their odds at survival. Bilbo felt a little useless, so he took it upon himself to scurry around Imladris Hall and collect supplies that the group might need on their journey. It was tiring work and required a lot of lifting and hauling, but he found it was worth it when he noticed Thorin watching him when no one else was looking.

“What is the date today?” Thorin asked when all the preparations had been made and all the plans triple checked.

Kíli looked up from where he sat next to his brother and pulled out his calender, carefully smoothing open the pages. “October 4th. It's Friday.” He rubbed his thumb absently over the cover in a practiced manner. “Why?”

“Do you have a way to keep track of the days?” Thorin asked Ori with obvious intent. When the young man nodded Thorin continued, “Good. Keep an eye on your days. We'll meet near the Valinor Corporation the second week of November, that gives us a good month for travel. I don't know what will be waiting there, so don't get too close or draw attention to yourselves.” 

Ori and his brothers agreed and soon the entire group was gathered at the door, ready to say their goodbyes.

“Be careful,” Thorin said while shaking Ori's hand fondly. “Be careful and try not to get into any scraps. And be sure to meet up with us in time, otherwise we'll assume the worst.” He looked at Dori and Nori with a affectionate smile, “Take care of each other.”

The two groups moved amongst each other, offering _good-byes_ and _be carefuls_ and _good lucks_ along with hugs and handshakes and no small amount of affection. Then Ori and his brothers set out in the direction of their purloined car, while Thorin and the others made their way carefully back to where the Pinto and Harley were parked. The engines roared loudly against the silence of the early morning world as the company took to the road.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there's the prophecy. As you've figured out by now, the signs are probably not going to be what you'd expect. Any ideas on what the other signs might end up being? And have you figured out who the mysterious prophet is?
> 
> What did you guys think of the 'Ri brothers? They've headed off on their own little side-quest, but don't worry- they'll be back! Nori turned out to one of my favorite characters to write- he's such a dick. :) Have we already met your favorite dwarf? I'd love to hear which characters you're most interested in seeing.
> 
> Chapter five is action-packed!


	5. Interlude: Balin Before

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first of the Interludes. People keep asking about the back-stories for various characters. I doubt there would be enough interest for a drabble series in this AU, but there are a few tales I'd love to tell. So... I thought I'd add in a few interlude chapters. These are super-short drabbles (most around 500 words) that are not exactly part of the main story-line, but still relate to it. Most of them are flashbacks to life Before the plague. These additional bits will be more like bonus chapters and should hopefully add a little meat to the story. I hope you like them. 
> 
> This is Balin and Dwalin's back-story.

* * *

_2001_  
 _Ann Arbor, Michigan_  


Balin was a studious man who lived a quiet life. He worked for the local library, at the non-fiction desk, and hosted a bridge game on the second Saturday of every month. He always paid his bills on time and had never had a parking ticket or cavity. He went to church every Sunday and said thanks for the good life he'd been given.

Balin was still happily ensconced in college when his brother graduated high school. Dwalin was an easy going young man- prone to jokes and wild parties. He was quick with a laugh and a kind word. Dwalin had never been much for books, but Balin hoped his brother would get into a trade school and make a name for himself. Dwalin had other plans and enlisted into the army on his eighteenth birthday.

Dwalin made it through the ten weeks of basic training with surprising ease. Balin received letters every week detailing the pranks his brother had played and the interesting things he had learned. Having thrived at basic, Dwalin's first assignment was stateside, where he helped acclimate the new troops. Military life was not what Balin would have chosen, but every Sunday he went to church and gave credit for his brother's happiness.

* * *

_2005_  
 _Ann Arbor, Michigan_  


Four years into his contract, Dwalin was sent to Iraq on his first overseas deployment. Regaled to guard duty in a civilian compound, he didn't see any action outside the occasional bar brawl. Balin read his brother's weekly letters carefully, thankful that he was nowhere near the front lines and retained his good humor. When Dwalin returned home after nine months he wore the same crooked grin he had left with, and a tattoo of an eagle on his right arm. Balin went to church on Sunday and left an offering in gratitude for his brother's return.

* * *

_2009_  
 _Ann Arbor, Michigan_  


Balin hoped his brother would choose not to re-enlist when his contract was up, but Dwalin had already made up his mind. He'd been accepted into Special Forces, where he would train for twenty-three months to be part of an select task force, the 3rd SFG(A). It was an elite, but dangerous job- harsh conditions, heavy fire, and high fatality rates. Balin smiled and bought his brother a congratulatory drink, but on Sunday he went to church and prayed for Dwalin's safety.

* * *

_2011_  
 _Ann Arbor, Michigan_  


Dwalin's first assignment with his Special Forces unit was deployment to Afghanistan. He was gone for three months and Balin received one letter. The letter was stiff and lacked most of his brother's usual cheer and banter. Balin asked for extra hours at the library to keep himself busy. When Dwalin returned home his eyes had lost their sparkle, but his left arm had gained a set of names and dates. Sunday came and Balin went to church to light a candle in his brother's name.

* * *

_2013_  
 _Ann Arbor, Michigan_  


Balin received a promotion at the library the same week his brother left on his second deployment to Iraq. This time his battalion was on the front lines, on a mission he was not at liberty to talk about. Balin received five brief e-mails during the ten month tour, each nothing more personal than proof of life. When Dwalin came home his knuckles bore inked runes of strength and loyalty. His face bore no smile. Balin went to church on Sunday and begged to have his carefree brother back.

* * *

_2016_  
 _Ann Arbor, Michigan_  


Balin woke up one morning to a hastily scrawled note on the kitchen counter. Dwalin had been called away for a high-security mission. He couldn't say where he was going, what he was doing, or when he'd be back. There would be no contact unless he was KIA. Balin called in sick to work and went to church, even though it wasn't Sunday, and pleaded for his brother's life.

* * *

_2017_  
 _Ann Arbor, Michigan_  


Dwalin showed up on the doorstep just after New Years with heavy tattoos across his head and discharge papers in his hand. Balin let him in without a word. The last mission had been to Kuwait, but Dwalin refused to say any more. His nightmares and mood swings told Balin more than enough, as did the hardness in his eyes. His brother was alive, but still lost to him and Balin found when Sunday came that he could no longer pray.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Balin loses his faith and Dwalin loses his innocence. I hope this explains a little where they're both coming from.


	6. Misty Mountain Mining Co.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter has some gore/violence. Nothing too graphic, but I wouldn't read it while eating. :)

* * *

Friday October 4, 2019  
Sidney, Nebraska

 

The car ride westward from Ashland seemed to drag on, never-ending strips of road disappearing into the horizon after miles and miles of nothingness. Bilbo found himself idly watching Thorin drive, noticing the way the other man's fingers curled around the steering wheel and how he sucked in his lower lip on particularly bad stretches of road. Thorin noticed him staring and caught his gaze for a long moment, a peculiar questioning vulnerability flashing briefly in his eyes before he turned back to the road. Flushing in embarrassment, Bilbo forced himself to turn away and rolled his shoulders, trying to find a comfortable position in the worn leather of the bucket seat. He knew he was lucky, because the passenger seat offered a great deal more leg room then the boys had in the back, but he couldn't bring himself to feel grateful when Kíli's knees were continuously hammering into the back of his seat. Fíli took the return to the car with the same quite resolve that he seemed to had for everything in life. Curling his legs up on the seat, he pulled out a worn paperback copy of The Odyssey, lips moving silently as he read. Kíli suffered most for the car ride; he alternated between staring sullenly out the window with increasingly despondent sighs and talking a mile-a-minute about absolutely anything that popped into his head. He bounced and jostled in his seat, trying out different positions until he ended up with his head pillowed against the window and his legs stretched across his brother's lap.

Three hours turned to four and then five, and as they passed Bilbo dozed, waking only when the Pinto hit a particularly large pothole in the road. He looked out the window, absently reading the mile marker as they drove past. “Wait! Stop the car! We have to go back!”

Thorin slammed his foot down hard on the breaks, the car skidding to a halt. “What is it? What's wrong?” The boys leaned forward, peering between the front seats in an effort to see what the fuss was about.

“There was a sign! Or rather, a sign for a sign!” Bilbo waved his hand frantically, baffled for a way to better explain his observation. “Oh bother. Just back the car up to that last mile marker. You'll see!” Looking at the other man skeptically, Thorin shifted the Pinto into reverse and backed up. 

Dwalin followed them on his Harley with a confused gesture. “Why are we stopping?” He asked, pulling off his helmet as the others wearily climbed out of the car. “We're in the middle of nowhere. Nothing out here but deserted cattle ranches.”

“And mines,” Bilbo said nervously. He pointed at a small rusted sign under the mile marker. “Misty Mountain Mining Company.”

“A sign for a sign,” Thorin said in understanding. He scanned the surrounding landscape, taking in the overgrown service road to the right of the highway. “What exactly did the prophecy say?”

“They will cross the Misty Mountains  
and find help in the Bears den.”

Balin recited with a deep frown. He tugged on his beard in thought, “If the Misty Mountains are a mine, how would we cross them? I don't fancy a trip underground.”

“Nor do I.” Thorin's eyes darkened for a moment before he offered a resigned sigh, “But I suppose it can't hurt to see what's at the end of this road.”

Dwalin nodded as he and Balin climbed back on the motorcycle and aimed it down the dirt road. Pausing a moment, he growled and slammed his fist down on the handlebars. “Dammit! We should leave the bike here. On the highway we can see any corpses before we get too close to them, but this road is overgrown. Who knows what could be rotting away in those bushes. I sure as hell don't wanna drive too close to a dead goblin and get myself infected.”

The logic made sense and soon Bilbo found himself and Balin crammed into the back of the Pinto with the boys, while Dwalin took over the passenger seat. They drove down the service road, carefully watching for obstacles that could damage the car. Eventually, they found themselves in a small parking lot, scattered with abandoned cars, and a small stone out-building situated next to the dark mouth of a mine. Another sign hung on the building's facade. _Misty Mountain Mining Company: Over hill and under hill we excavate the riddles in the dark._

“Now what?” Fíli asked, as the piled out of the car. “Do we see what's in the building?”

“Or the mine?!” Kíli added, bouncing on the balls of his feet at the prospect of an adventure.

“No way,” Thorin cut them off with a growl. “You boys are going to stay in the car with Bilbo and Balin while Dwalin and I scout around. We'll let you know if things are safe.”

Kíli pouted, his face shifting into the puppy-dog eyes that usually got him what he wanted. “Please, Uncle?”

“Absolutely not!” Thorin put his foot down. “You can poke around once we're sure it's safe, but not before.” He ignored the pleading looks from his nephews and turned instead to Bilbo. “You keep them in the car and keep them safe.” Bilbo nodded, feeling both immensely pleased at being given a task and irritated that he had not been asked to assist with the scouting. Not that he honestly thought he'd be much help, but the idea of being trapped any longer in the car with a bored Kíli was less then appealing. With a sigh, he shepherded the boys back into the Pinto before joining Balin, who was sitting on the hood. 

Thorin's lips tightened as he hefted his baseball bat, meeting Dwalin's eyes for a tense moment as the other man fitted brass knuckles onto his hands. “Ready?” With a sharp nod and one long last look at his nephews, Thorin led the way across the parking lot to the low stone building, where he and Dwalin disappeared inside.

Bilbo sat on the hood of the car and pretended he couldn't hear the boys talking inside. Kíli chaffed against their imposed imprisonment, whining and pouting and shooting reproachful looks in the direction their uncle had gone. Fíli watched his brother fret for several minutes before sighing and joining in. It was obvious to Bilbo that while Fíli understood his uncle's reasoning, he still resented being treated like a child.

While Bilbo watched the boys, Balin kept an eye on their surroundings, nudging Bilbo with his elbow as Thorin and Dwalin exited the building and headed into the front of the mine. Fíli and Kíli quieted down as they all trained their eyes on the mine, waiting for their friends to reappear. The minutes passed slowly, and with each tick of the Pinto's clock, the boys grew more and more restless. Even Bilbo had begun to worry, having no idea what could possibly be taking Thorin so long. Balin met his eyes, a look of concern passing silently between them, before he popped the trunk and began loading supplies into a backpack. “We give them another 10 minutes,” He said softly, stuffing the first-aid kit into the bag. “I'd rather not take the boys...”

Bilbo agreed, but could see no way around it. “I don't suppose we can leave them here, they wouldn't stay put. And no one should be going into that mine alone.” He worried his fingers together absently, “I only wish we knew what was in there. I can't help but feel that we'll be walking into trouble.”

Balin handed him a baseball bat and the backpack before arming himself with a golf club. “I don't see any way around it.” The boys tumbled out of the car, evidently having heard the conversation. Fíli shouldered a backpack of his own and the tire iron, looking uncharacteristically hesitant at the prospect of danger. Kíli gnawed on his lip and poked around for something to use as a weapon. Finding nothing he sighed and crept a little close to his brother's side.

“Well then.” Bilbo frowned and raked a hand uneasily through his hair. “If we're going to do this, you boys need to do _exactly_ as we say. No questions asked.” They nodded with unusual seriousness, picking up on the potential gravity of the situation. “All right. Off we go.”

Bilbo led the way as they moved surreptitiously towards the mine. Up close, the entrance loomed like an angry maw, loose stone jutting out from the walls and scattering under their feet. The narrow shaft was dark and smelled of must and iron and damp earth. A box of torches sat just inside the doorway, dusty and forgotten, but still usable. Bilbo lit one and let his eyes adjust to the gloom, searching for signs of their missing friends. “Thorin?” He called softly. “Dwalin?” A muffled shout down a fork to their left caught his attention and they crept silently down the pathway. Turning a corner, Bilbo skidded to a sudden stop as the ground three feet in front of him disappeared into an inky pit of empty space. “Thorin? Dwalin?”

“Down here!” Thorin's voice echoed from the depths. “The path fell out from under us. We're both in one piece, more or less, but the walls are too loose to climb out.” There was a sullen resignation in his voice, as well as a tinge of embarrassment at having gotten stuck.

“Don't worry! We'll get you out!” Bilbo called with more confidence than he felt. Searching the hall, he found a length of rope which he tied to a wooden support beam. Dropping the rope of the edge of the path he called down again. “Can you reach the rope?”

“It's not quite long enough!” Thorin cursed, clearly frustrated by the turn of events. Bilbo weighed their options, pursing his lips in thought, “Perhaps...” Whatever thought he might have had was lost as Fíli was pushed forward and tumbled off into the abyss.

“Fee!” Kíli cried out with a ragged sound that cut through the silence. “Fíli!” 

There was a scrambling sound below them as Thorin presumably rushed to his oldest nephew's side. He called something out, but his words were drowned out as Balin screamed, “Goblins!”

Bilbo spun and hefted his baseball bat, raising the torch to get a better look at their foe. The three monsters in front of them had clearly been men at one point, though their bodies were gaunt and riddled with bruises. Unfocused eyes bulged from their skulls, wide and dark and unblinking. Their jaws wagged uselessly, chomping and biting at the air, sounds muddled by tongues that had gone swollen and soft in their mouths. Their fingers were bent into claws, slashing at the humans and other goblins with equal rage. One clutched at a mining pick, the tip stained dark with dried blood- Bilbo struck that one first with his bat. “Down the rope, Kíli! Now!” He put himself between the monsters and the boy, swinging his bat in a wide arc to keep the goblins at bay.

Balin pressed his back against the wall, fighting off a foe with solid swings of his golf club. The goblin's skull collapsed with a sickening crack after a particularly vicious hit, blood pouring from the wound as the creature continued to try and fight. Bilbo felt more than saw Kíli disappear behind him. Glad the boy was out of the fighting, he turned his attention back to pummeling the goblins in front of him. The first goblin had lost its mining pick, but retained its clawed fingers, using them to rip deep gouges into Bilbo's arm. He cried out in pain and swung the bat again, blanching at the sound of bones breaking upon contact. The steel toes of Balin's boots were bloodied and his foe crumpled motionless on the ground beside him. He swung hard with his golf club, connecting with the chest of another goblin- a strangled garble of sounds ripping out from its throat as it fell. Bilbo's opponent lay unmoving on the ground, though he still beat it over and over with his bat.

“Easy, lad.” Balin laid a hand on his arm, silently encouraging him to stop bludgeoning the corpse. “They're all dead.”

Bilbo stepped back and surveyed the carnage with wide eyes. “They're dead? They're... the boys!” His breath caught in his chest as he rushed to the side of the drop-off. “Thorin! The boys?!”

“Are both alive.” The relief was evident in Thorin's voice, though he still sounded worried. “We can't stay here though...”

Bilbo looked around, trying to figure out what to do. In the end, it was decided for them as the ambling sound of more goblins came from down the hall. Balin glanced back the way they had come and looked extremely alarmed. “It's no use going that way. There are a good dozen of them. I think our best chance is to go forward. Most of these mines have an exit through the mountain.”

“They will cross the Misty Mountains,” Bilbo quoted absently, as he climbed down the rope and dropped the last couple feet to the ground.

* * *

Kíli sat at the bottom of the pit with his brother's head nestled in his lap. He murmured soft nonsense words into Fíli's ear, desperate tears soaking into the older boy's braids as he brushed the hair gently back from his face. Fíli's cheeks were damp with sweat and tears, the ball of his left shoulder protruding unnaturally through the front of his t-shirt. Their eyes were fixed on each other, neither boy willing to let the other out of his sight. 

“I told you to keep them safe!” Thorin hissed at Bilbo, the anger apparent in both the timbre of his voice and the cold glint of his eyes.

“You didn't come back! What were we supposed to do?” Bilbo gasped out, his heart pounding in his chest. “Leave you down here? Tell the boys to wait in the car?” He sighed heavily, “If they had, we'd be separated from them now! And do you honestly think they would have stayed?”

Thorin dropped his head into his open palms. “No,” He said softly, looking at his nephews as if the rest of the world had fallen away and the two boys were all that was important. The remainder of the company seemed wary of interrupting them, but it had to be done.

“His shoulder's dislocated,” Dwalin said with a frown, glancing nervously towards the top of the pit. “It's anterior and I can set it, but then we're gonna have to move. It won't take the goblins long to realize we're down here.” He regarded Fíli for a long moment, sizing the boy up. “All right, kid, I ain't gonna lie. This is gonna hurt like a bitch, but it's gotta be done. Sit up.” 

Fíli sat up slowly and bit his lip to hold back a whimper of pain. “Do it,” He whispered with a resolute nod. Dwalin knelt down beside the boy, taking his arm and bending the elbow at a 90 degree angle.

“Don't look, Fee!” Kíli begged, drawing his brother's attention. “Keep your eyes on me.” He reached out and took hold of his brother's right hand, clutching it tightly.

Dwalin slowly rotated Fíli's arm inward, towards his chest, then suddenly switched positions and turned it outward, pressing firmly until the shoulder slotted back into its socket with an audible pop. 

Fíli clenched his jaw and choked back a sob. Clinging wildly to his brother's hand, he ground his teeth together and rocked his body forward, breath coming out in short gasps until he was able to calm himself. Kíli cried silently, tears streaming freely down his face as he traced random calming patterns onto the back of his brother's hand.

“I'm sorry, lad, but we have to move,” Thorin said hoarsely, his eyes suspiciously damp. “I'm so sorry.”

Pulling himself to his feet, Fíli nodded tersely. “I'll be fine. Let's go.” He handed Kíli his backpack to carry, but hefted the tire iron himself. Kíli shouldered the bag and glanced nervously at his brother, clearly worried. “I'm fine, Kíli. I promise.” At length, the younger boy swallowed, then nodded with a weak smile.

Bilbo tore his eyes away from the boys and looked at the other members of the company for some sign of what to do. Balin peered curiously down each of the paths splintering off from the pit. Squinting into the darkness and sniffing the air, he gestured designedly at the right-most pathway. “I believe this hall will eventually lead us out.” Bilbo crooked an eyebrow at him and waited for an explanation. “The darkness is more gray than black, which means there's a light source somewhere. And there is a slight breeze- wind has to come from somewhere.”

A barrage of small stones tumbled down the edge of the pit, skittering off into the darkness. “I do believe something is up there,” Bilbo whispered nervously. A sudden mewling sound proved him correct as a lone goblin careened off the ledge, landing several feet from them with a horrifying crunch. It looked up at them with unfocused eyes, its broken voice keening as it reached its ragged arms towards them. Dwalin rushed forward, repeatedly slamming his brass knuckles into the monster's face until the noises stopped and all that remained was a gory pulp.

Bilbo edged away from the corpse and promptly emptied the contents of his stomach against the far wall of the pit. He coughed, stomach clenching again as he heaved once more, but there was nothing else to come up. Wiping his mouth, he glanced down and caught sight of a small leather-wrapped handle sticking out from a pile of debris. He reached out curiously and grabbed the handle, unearthing a small knife in a worn leather sheath. Hearing a scuffle above them, Bilbo absently stuffed the knife inside his jacket pocket and turned to peer up into the darkness.

“We have to get out of here!” Thorin looked up towards the ridge of the pit, where a group of goblins gathered, shuffling and clawing at each other as they tried to find a way down. “We can't fight- there are too many of them!” He herded his nephews after Dwalin, who led the way down their chosen path. “Stay together!” Thorin guarded their rear, glancing back every few seconds to make sure they weren't being followed. The path was rocky and dark, the light from their torch casting frantic shadows that moved and flickered as they ran.

They raced down a long hallway and paused at a fork in the path as Balin tried to discern the most probable way out. “We're being hunted.” Thorin's eyes were trained on the path behind him as the first of the goblins shambled into view. The creatures that pursued had plainly survived falling into the pit- many of them sported limbs which stuck out at unnatural angles and all of them oozed with blood from the myriad of gashes that covered their gangly bodies. The goblins moved closer and Balin finally chose a path. “Move! Run!”

They took off down the hallway, half a dozen of the less-damaged goblins close at their heels. Glancing back, Bilbo saw one of the monsters grasping at Thorin's coat and pulling the other man down. “Thorin!” He skidded to a stop and turned, waving his baseball bat at the closest goblins. “Let him go!” The creatures paid him no mind and clawed savagely at Thorin's side, tearing through his shirt and rending the flesh underneath. “I said let him go!” Bilbo launched himself at the nearest goblin, tackling it to the ground and then crushing its skull with the butt of his bat. Thorin rolled to the side as soon as he was free, kicking in the ribs of another goblin as he scrambled to his feet.

One of the goblins advanced on the boys and snapped at the air with its gaping maw. A single bulbous eye rotated towards them, the other socket empty and leaking. “Fee?” Kíli reached up and clutched at his brother's sleeve, eyes flickering between Fíli and the goblin. The creature lurched forward and ululated, the sound hampered by a broken jaw. Fíli tensed and raised the tire iron, ready to protect his brother, but Dwalin intercepted him, grabbing the weapon as he stepped in front of the boys. A single swing caught the goblin's neck and snapped its spine with a distinct crack.

“Keep moving!” Balin yelled, grabbing at Kíli's arm and dragging both boys forward. “Come on!” They sprinted off down the hall, while Thorin and Dwalin finished off the immediate threats and and rushed to catch up. Another sharp turn and the hallway began to climb steeply, decelerating their progress. The pathway grew wider and wider until it opened into a large cavern, make-shift walkways spindling up the walls of a deep pit. “This way!” Balin led them up one of the rickety paths, pushing through a gateway and onto a set of metal tracks. Three mine cars sat at the top of the tracks with their emergency breaks drawn. “Get in!”

“Excuse me?” Bilbo stuttered, looking at the carts with trepidation. “Are you quite certain that's a good idea? I don't relish the thought of falling to my death if one of these things capsizes.”

“Would you rather be torn apart by the goblins? Because that's what is about to happen! They'll keep chasing us until their lungs give out. We can't go on much longer without a rest.” Balin threw his hands up in exasperation. “The miners that worked here would fill these carts and then send them off to be cleaned. That probably happened outside of the mines.”

The wound in Thorin's side bled steadily as climbed into the first cart and helped Fíli in beside him. Kíli settled himself next to his brother and stared down the track with a look of frightened excitement. Dwalin and Balin waited in the second car, staring expectantly at Bilbo. “This is our best chance at getting out.” Bilbo looked back to see the goblins already climbing up the walkway towards them. With a sigh he climbed into the cart and clutching tightly to the frame. They released the emergency brakes and were off.

The company sped through the Misty Mountains with twists and sudden turns and the occasional spiral downward. Bilbo quickly lost his bearings as he clung to the cart for dear life. Somewhere up ahead, he heard Kíli's bright laughter over the clank of the wheels on the metal tracks. Their torch was lost, but the air around them grew gradually lighter until he could make out the others figures in the fading gloom. “The breeze smells fresher here. I do believe we're almost out!” He called, hoping the others could hear him. Sure enough, the carts began to slow on their own, until they crested a final hill and came to a jolting stop at the backdoor of the mine.

“We made it!” Kíli jumped out of the cart and pulled his brother into a tight hug. “That was awesome! Like flying!”

“Yes, but where did we make it to?” Fíli replied, pulling the younger boy close as he peered around curiously. “Who knows how far we traveled. Or even what direction we were going.”

“West,” Bilbo said with a definitive nod. “A good deal west.”

“You sure?” Dwalin cocked an eyebrow as he wiped the dried blood from his knuckles.

“I'm adamant.” He pointed to a large granite summit that crested high above the treeline. “That's Chimney Rock.”

Thorin dug through his pockets, sighing with clear relief as he pulled out the folded map. One edge of the paper was shredded and speckled with blood, but the roads were still legible and his father's note still present. “Chimney Rock. We're in Bayard- a little off the main road but somehow we managed to get a good sixty miles in the right direction!”

“We've lost the Pinto though,” Bilbo said despondently as he wiped at the gash on his arm. “And the Harley. How are we supposed to get to the coast without a vehicle?”

It was Dwalin who answered with a resolved shrug, “We walk.” He gazed up at the sky, using the sun to ascertain the direction. “Once we get back the the highway we'll find another car sooner or later.”

“Well, that's quite lovely, isn't it?!” Bilbo scoffed, fluttering his hands in distress. “We've got half a country yet to cross, two exhausted children, and Thorin is bleeding all over the place! I dare say this quest is off to a smashing start!”

Everyone turned to look at Thorin, who had one hand clamped tightly over the wound in his side. Blood oozed from between his fingers, which trembled slightly as he pressed his lips together with grim resolve. “I'll live.” 

“You'll let me take a look at it, is what you'll do.” Bilbo dropped his backpack and dug through it for the first aid kit and a bottle of water. “Come on now, let's get on with it.” Thorin glared for a moment, as if he was going to refuse, then slowly tugged off his shirt. Long strips of skin were flayed open just below his key tattoo, where the goblin's fingers had lacerated the flesh, exposing pale chunks of muscle. The wound was angry and gaping, the surrounding skin burning hot to the touch. Bilbo worked quickly, cleaning the wound the best he could with water before threading a needle and stitching the flesh back together. It was messy, imprecise work, but he did his best with what he had. Thorin remained silent throughout the treatment, the only indications of his pain were the clench of his jaw and the darkness in his eyes. When he reached the end of his stitches, Bilbo tied off the thread and spread a liberal amount of antibiotic cream over the sutures. He handed Thorin two pain relievers to swallow, knowing full well that they would do little to ease his suffering. “All done.”

Thorin looked down at his side for a long moment before returning his gaze to Bilbo. “Thank you.” His lips curved into a tight smile, “Not just for the stitches, but for earlier as well... During the fight.”

Bilbo shrugged uncomfortably, trying to ignore the warmth pooling in his stomach as a result of Thorin's smile, “It was nothing. Anyone else would have done the same.”

“No,” Thorin spat the words out as if they were in danger of wedging themselves in his throat. “You've been nothing but helpful this entire time, even though you're clearly in way over your head. And you put yourself in danger to save me. I don't know what force led us to knock on your door, but I am profoundly grateful. We're lucky to have you with us.”

He pulled Bilbo into an unexpected hug which was quickly joined by both boys, who leaned into the embrace like over-affectionate kittens. As they broke away, Bilbo voiced a soft question, “Are we going to be all right?” Not waiting for a response he rushed to elaborate, “Those were goblins, and now they're corpses. And corpses pass on the plague.”

Balin fielded the question with a calm surety, “We should be fine. The bodies aren't contagious until they begin releasing gasses- typically after a week or two. You can usually tell because the corpse looks bloated and cracked. The freshly dead hold little risk.”

Nodding, Bilbo looked around at the other members of the company. “Good then. We'll be fine. And we're heading away from the mines, so we won't have to worry about those particular goblins again.”

Bilbo started walking west. Thorin fell into step beside him, as Fíli grabbed his brother's sleeve and gently pulled him towards the road. Dwalin and Balin fell in line, watching their backs and whispering quietly amongst themselves. They walked, as day turned to night, and Kíli crossed another day off on his calender.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, now you've seen actual goblins. What do you think of them (and the plague in general)? Writing monsters is tricky and I'd love to hear your thoughts on whether or not it's working.
> 
> The next chapter will have a few new characters to introduce. Some of you should be happy, as two of the characters are ones you've been asking about!


	7. Interlude: 'Ri Side-Quest, Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the bit that inspired the Interludes. Everyone wanted to know what the 'Ri brothers were up to, and I love this damn family too much not to comply! The 'Ri side-quest will be delivered in three parts... one for each brother. This first one is Nori's part of the story.

* * *

_Saturday October 5, 2019  
Nebraska_

Why Lindir's Charger had the fucking license plate BUNGO Nori didn't know, but he figured it must be a nickname from some seedy gay bar or maybe the name of his favorite childhood guinea pig or some shit. Not that Nori had anything against gays... or guinea pigs for that matter. At least not anything more than he had against everyone.

Nori didn't like people. People were like dumb ass sheep- they blindly did what they were told and couldn't think for their god damn selves. People were assholes who trusted too easily and believed in things they couldn't even see. Fuckers.

It was 1,600 miles from Ashland to Red Bluff and Nori figured they could make it in two days if the roads were clear and he could red-line the Charger's v6 at 151 MPH and drive most of the night.

Of course that didn't fucking happen.

The roads were shit and Nori spent more time dodging potholes and downed trees then actually driving. Nebraska was a boring stretch of nothing and he began to wonder why he agreed to the fucking quest in the first place.

Ori. His little brother rode shotgun and fiddled with the stereo, finally deciding on a CD and singing along with the bullshit country song.

"No way in hell! I'm not spending hours in the fucking car with you singing Taylor Swift at the top of your god damn lungs!"

Dori frowned and leaned up from the backseat, probably to bitch about his swearing or ask about their plans or some other stupid shit. "Don't even start, D. I can say whatever I god damn want." He sparked a cigarette with the in-dash lighter and took a heavy drag, exhaling the smoke in the general direction of his lame-ass older brother.

Ori shifted in his seat and fiddled with the fugly purple scarf he insisted on wearing. He wore a look Nori remembered from the boring vacations they took as kids. "Oh, hell no. Don't even think about asking for bathroom breaks every ten minutes. You can piss in a fucking soda bottle and stop your god damn bitching!"

The only sound was the wheels on the pavement and the twangy voice of the slut on the stereo.

It wasn't that Nori went out of his way to be a dick. Especially not to his brothers, who were annoying bastards, but didn't suck as much as he said they did. Not that he would ever say it out loud, but he was proud of Ori for standing up for himself and going on this bat-shit adventure. Dori too, if he'd stop worrying so god damn much and enjoy the ride. Sure, they were going to try and find a god that didn't exist, but that didn't mean they couldn't have a little fun along the way.

Nori didn't like people and he didn't believe in a higher power- regardless of the fucking quest they were on. But doing 70 MPH down a deserted stretch of highway with Dori fretting in the backseat and Ori humming along with the stereo, Nori found he believed in something.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nori is one of my favorite characters to write now. He's SO different from Bilbo (who is at the center of the rest of this story). I foresee a lot more Nori in my future... Also, fanart of Ori singing along with Taylor Swift would make my life.


	8. Welcome Aid, Unwelcome Horror

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note to say thank you for all the amazing feedback you've been giving me on this story. You're all amazing!

* * *

_Tuesday October 8, 2019  
Pine Bluffs, Wyoming_

 

They walked for three days, keeping to the center of the road in order to avoid having to search for hidden danger. The pavement wore out the soles of their shoes and the dry air tore at their throats as they finished the last bottle of water. Each night they bedded down in the ditches beside the road, the adults taking turns keeping watch against the oppressive darkness. Each morning they woke to stiff backs, ruptured blisters, and the soft whimpers of Kíli's nightmares. Their survival hinged on Balin's knowledge and Dwalin's training. Between the two, they carefully foraged edible plants to satiate their hunger, and siphoned dew to lessen their thirst. It was never enough.

They needed help- that much was apparent to Bilbo, and he began searching the sky and side roads for any indication of life.

The harsh travel wore heavily on all of them. Thorin pushed them on, though he faded visibly as the days progressed. They lacked the skills necessary to treat the wound in his side, and it burned with infection, reddish streaks coloring the skin around the lesion. Dwalin tried to remain stoic, but Bilbo noticed the way his eyes flickered worriedly between Thorin and Balin, whose golf club had gone from weapon to walking stick. Fíli alternated between re-situating the backpack on his sore shoulder and fidgeting with his fingerless gloves, his skin stark against the dirty fabric. Even Kíli lost his bouncing gait and incessant chatter, trudging along in a silence that hung heavily in the air.

Bilbo knew they wouldn't make it much further. 

It was mid-afternoon on the third day, the sun burning hot in the cloudless sky, when Bilbo noticed a thin wave of smoke filtering through the treetops. He stop walking and stared at it, blinking his eyes hard to make sure he wasn't simply imagining things. Rushing ahead of the others, he found a small dirt track through the brush and took several steps down it before the others caught up. “This way!” Bilbo expected an argument and was oddly alarmed when there was none. With feet that drug heavily on the ground he led the way, checking carefully for danger as the rest of the company trudged after him.

Not far off the main road they came to a small glade in the brush, centered around a low stone house. Smoke drifted lazily from the chimney, curling its way into the otherwise clear blue sky. Clothes hung on a wash-line in the yard, flapping in a breeze that smelled faintly of soap. A tiny brick outbuilding with thick cloudy windows and a heavily padlocked door stood in the corner of the clearing, peering sullenly through the overgrown grass.

“Uh... Hello?” Bilbo called, not wanting to startle anyone by knocking at the door, and also wanting to keep a fair distance between his friends and the unknown. Not that Thorin and the others could run away even if danger did present itself. No, they were dependent on whatever aid might be found. “Hello?”

“'Lo yersef!” A lone figure stepped out from behind the house, a thickly muscled man with grizzled salt-and-pepper hair and a rust toned flannel shirt. “Wha'cher doin' 'er?”

“What? Er... Sorry to disturb you, but um, I'm Bilbo Baggins. And, well, my friends and I need help,” Bilbo stammered, shifting from one foot to the other as the stranger drew closer. “We've been walking for days, you see, and we've run out of supplies.”

The man stopped several feet in front of them and spit noisily into the dirt. “Yer ain't 'fected are ya?” His voice was gruff, with a thick backwoods accent that made it incredibly difficult to understand.

“Fected? Oh, infected! The plague! Heavens no!” Shaking his head vigorously, Bilbo motioned to Thorin and continued. “We're not infected, but my friend here has been wounded in a bit of a fight...”

“M'Bifur,” He pointed a thick finger at his own chest. “C'mon n'side an' res'.” He scratched roughly at a large scar on his forehead, then gestured wildly at the house before ambling towards it.

“What did he say?” Kíli whispered loudly, some of his trademark curiosity returning. “I couldn't understand anything he said! He sounded like someone from Swamp People!”

“Kíli! Please don't tell people you watch reality TV... Seriously!” Fíli said, laughing as his brother threw him the dirtiest look he could manage.

Don't be a jerk, Fee.” Kíli elbowed his brother in the ribs and smirked. “So, what did he say? Does he want us to follow him?”

“Yes, well, I'm fairly certain he isn't just offering up directions to the nearest Motel 6.” Bilbo frowned, a deep rivet of concern forming between his brows. “In fact, I do believe he quite expects us to stay the night here. Probably so he can kill us in our sleep and eat us later on!” His hands fluttered nervously. Fíli instinctively moved closer to his brother, as if his pure proximity could shield the younger boy from being ingested. “Oh dear, I'm sorry boys!” Bilbo stuttered, looking embarrassed. “I'm quite sure he isn't actually planning on eating us. Isn't that right, Thorin?”

“You're perfectly safe, lads. I promise,” Thorin said weakly, and leveled a tired glare at Bilbo, who had the decency to look properly ashamed. “Come along now. Let's not keep our host waiting.”

Bilbo and Dwalin followed Bifur into the house, motioning for the others to join them only after assuring their safety. Fortunately, the building appeared harmless enough, consisting of a single large room divided into two separate living zones. The main area was furnished with a large wooden table and mismatched benches, situated near a small kitchenette. Several leather couches that were badly in need of being reupholstered sat in the far corner, positioned around the large open-hearth of a fireplace. A tiny bathroom was visible through an open door along the back wall, and a wooden ladder led up to an open sleeping loft.

Two men sat at the table, looking up in surprise at the unexpected guests. Bifur motioned frantically at them, his voice raising in what might have been delight. “Bl'bo Bagn'z an' friens!”

Bilbo stepped forward when no one else moved, deciding it was up to him to speak for the group. “Yes, I'm Bilbo Baggins. These are my friends- Thorin Oakenshield and his nephews. And Dwalin and Balin... goodness! You'd think I would have learned your surname after all of these introductions!” He shook his head, interrupting his own thought and getting back to the task at hand. “We've lost our car and have been walking for days...” He glanced briefly at Kíli who held up three fingers. “Three days, that is. And we're exhausted and out of supplies and Thorin has an injury that's gone sour and we're in dire need of your help!” After rushing through the explanation, he finished with a deep breath and a sharp nod of his head.

“Well, ya lads have come to the right place!” One of the men stood up, an easy smile on his face. “I'm Bofur an' this is my brother Bombur. Ya've already met our cousin Bifur there.”

Bilbo found himself smiling at Bofur and thanking his lucky stars that the other man's accent wasn't nearly as strong as his cousins. “Pleased to meet you, I'm sure.” He turned to greet Bombur as well, taking in the olive sweatshirt that was stretched thin across the man's large frame. A full red mustache dominated his face and his thick neck was obscured by an impossibly long braided beard. The other man caught Bilbo staring and flushed, getting up and busying himself in the kitchenette.

“Come in an' take a load off, won't ya? We'll get ya fixed up in no time!” Bofur pulled a fur-lined hat down over his messy pigtails, the ear flaps sticking out at odd angles. “How'd ya end up out here, anyhow?”

“We were heading west when we ran into a bit of a mess with some goblins,” Bilbo shrugged, not sure how much of their story to share. “Ended up loosing our car and walking... We saw your smoke from the road and took a chance. I suppose I'm rather pleased that we did.”

“Me, too, lads! It's been awfully lonely up here with just these two louts.” He absently fixed the collar of his mustard-yellow flannel and cocked his head to the side curiously. “What d'ya mean by goblins? Is that what they're calling the infected ones now?”

“Well, I'm not certain about anyone else, but that's what we call them, yes. It was Kíli's idea.” The youngster's proud smile lit up the room.

“We ain't had many infected around here lately. The three of us used to work in the mines, but we took off when things went south.” Bofur grinned crookedly as he led them to the couches, though a ghost of a memory seemed to keep the smile from reaching his eyes. “Every once in a while one stumbles onto the property, but they're easy enough to deal with on their lonesome.”

Bilbo perched carefully on the arm of one of the sofas, watching with a worried eye as Thorin lowered himself down beside him. Balin took an armchair, stroking the arm in absent fondness and seeming increasingly glad at their luck, while Dwalin stayed near the door, clearly torn between partaking in the comforts and keeping watch for dangers. The boys tumbled on to the remaining couch; Fíli whispered something into Kíli's ear and the younger laughed uproariously and jostled him in response.

“So, it's just the three of you out here then?” Bilbo asked, trying to find out more about their hosts and not feeling altogether comfortable with the idea of silence.

“Mostly.” Bofur's eyes flicker briefly to his brother. “The lad who owns this house comes back sometimes, but we're all that's left from the mines.”

“Sorry to interrupt, but we should see to Thorin's wound,” Balin said pointedly and Bilbo cursed himself for not thinking of it sooner. Thorin growled softly, though much of his normal gruff was lost as a pained look crossed his face.

As it turned out, Bofur had a knack for home remedies and set about the house gathering supplies the minute he saw the inflamed lesion on Thorin's side. He mashed up some bread with powdered milk and water to form a poultice, then added flax seed and honey. Pointedly ignoring Thorin's dark glare, he worked the paste into the wound, then wrapped it tightly with plastic wrap and a clean bandage. “That should suck the infection out of ya. Be right as rain in a day or two.”

“Thank you,” Thorin said, his voice thick with relief and exhaustion.

It wasn't long before Bombur knocked a heavy iron ladle against the counter top, drawing their attention to the hearty pot of vegetable soup simmering away on the stove. They ate like starving animals, slurping noisily at the broth and tearing into bread with famished gusto and very little shame. Even Bilbo, who prided himself on his gentle upbringing, found himself tipping up the bowl to his lips and sucking down the last drops of soup. 

Full bellies made them sleepy and soon the company found themselves tucked into makeshift beds in the sleeping loft. Dwalin insisted on keeping first watch, still not eager to trust their lives to their strange hosts, but the others relished the thought of a full nights sleep. Unable to stay awake any longer after all the walking and prolonged injury, Thorin faded quickly to slumber, low snores rumbling up from his chest. Kíli sat beside his brother, staring intently at his calender for a few long moments and looking unusually stoic. Fíli reached for a lock of Kíli's dark hair and twirled it around his fingers, effectively distracting the younger boy from his thoughts. Soon they too were curled up under the blankets, their breathes low and even. Bilbo snuggled down into his own bedding and sighed happily as he drifted off to sleep.

* * *

_Monday October 14, 2019  
Pine Bluffs, Wyoming_

 

The first few days of their stay in the stone cabin were spent primarily on sleep. None of them had managed more than a couple hours of uninterrupted rest since Rivendell and their bodies seemed determined to catch up while they had the chance. The boys recovered first, bouncing back with the vigor of youth. Kíli delighted in poking around the cabin, exploring every corner and cupboard before turning his attentions to the inhabitants. It became Fíli's task to wrangle his brother, stepping in when the questions became too much and dragging him away when one of their hosts, usually Bifur, jokingly threatened the boy with bodily harm. Thorin recovered slowly, but Bofur's poultice did the trick, drawing the infection from his side and letting nature heal the wound. It wasn't long until the entire company was well rested and recovered and plotting their next move. They had told Bofur and the others the bones of their story, leaving out the business of the prophecy and Mahal. All the others really needed to know was that they had to get to the coast and meet up with their friends.

Bilbo enjoyed their respite and found himself forgetting about the urgency of their quest as he settled in to a pleasant routine. It was easy for him to fall in to helping with the cooking and mending and tidying up, as that had been so much a part of the life he left behind. During the in-between times, he took stock of their meager possessions and plotted our their future course on Thorin's map. In the heat of the second day he drug a large washtub into the yard and scrubbed away as much of the dust and grim as he could from their clothing. Tossing his own garments into the water, he frowned as something in his jacket thumped loudly against the side of the tub. Bilbo removed the soggy jacket and dug out the small knife he had found while they were escaping from the mines. Regarding it curiously, he curled his fingers around the leather-wrapped handle and drew the blade from its sheath. The blade itself was iron and solid black in color, with no discernible markings. With a slight shrug, he stuffed the knife into his backpack and promptly forgot about it.

After several days in their fellowship Bofur, Bifur, and Bombur had become friends to them as well. Bofur was the easiest- always quick with a smile and a laugh and a kind word. He was just as likely to be found chopping wood as chasing Kíli around the yard- the ever present cap perched jauntily on his head. He seemed to live in the moment, actively avoiding any conversations about the plague or their lives before it. Bifur was an endless source of amusement for the boys- Kíli especially, who laughed so brightly at the man's strange manner of speech and quirky behavior. At first Fíli tried to reign his brother in, worried that he was being rude or offensive, but Bifur seemed to glean some overwhelming sense of enjoyment from making the younger boy laugh. They spent countless lazy hours sitting on the steps of the house, holding delighted conversations where Kíli didn't understand a word and Bifur didn't seem to care. Bombur was the last to instill himself into their group, or maybe the first, because Bilbo couldn't honestly pinpoint when it had happened. The rotund man spent most of his time in the garden or the kitchen, cooking up meals that were clearly designed to put the meat back on their bones. When he thought no one else was watching Bombur would slip small treats to the boys, or refill their plates with a second portion, or a bit of meat from his own helping.

The company gave themselves time to rest before restarting their journey. More importantly in Bilbo's mind, they gave themselves time to step back from the broken world and steal a moment of happiness.

* * *

The sun blazed high in the sky and Bilbo threw his head back, arms stretching upwards as he enjoyed the warmth on his face. Thorin and Kíli were sitting against a tree a few yards away, talking animatedly about something he couldn't quite hear. He couldn't help but watch them out of the corner of his eye, noting the way the lines on Thorin's face seemed to fade away when he smiled. Bilbo spared a moment to imagine what life could be like without the plague; the boys joking around in the yard, a home filled with laughter and friends. Thorin. He broke from his thoughts when Fíli nudged his shoulder with a playful grin. 

“He is, you know.”

“Who is what?” Bilbo raised a brow and looked at the boy curiously.

“Uncle Thorin,” Fíli said with a shrug. “He's interested.”

Bilbo blushed, not having realized he was being so obvious in his staring. “I quite doubt that.”

“He watches you sleep.”

“Because that isn't unnerving at all!” Bilbo choked in surprise. Butterflies danced in his stomach as he thought about the possibility that his affections might be returned. He certainly hadn't been expecting to find romance at the end of the word, but he couldn't say it wouldn't be welcome. Thorin was brave and loyal and beautiful- everything he could possibly wish for. And if the attraction was mutual...

“Bofur's taking Uncle Thorin, Kíli, and me out to find mushrooms. You want to come?” Bilbo abandoned his thoughts and smiled as patted his stomach with a happy nod.

The day was perfect for a walk; a gentle breeze rustled the low growing grass of the meadow, and the sky was crisp and clear as far as the eye could see. They trampled down the path, offering a cursory glance over the landscape for any sign of trouble. There was good visibility on every side, with very few patches of trees or shrubs that even warranted inspection. Thorin walked beside him, their hands brushing against one another a little too often to be coincidence, sending pleasant goosebumps up Bilbo's arms. He felt himself relax into the moment and joined Bofur in a casual conversation about the best way to cook up mushrooms.

The boys darted around them, roaring with delighted laughter and throwing joking insults at each other. Thorin's lips curved into a pleased smile as he watched his nephews enjoy themselves. Fíli tripped on a root and stumbled forward, sprawling across the path as his brother cackled gleefully at his misfortune. Kíli took the opportunity to put some distance between them, racing off down the path with the knowledge that his brother would soon be at his heels.

Kíli's laughter rang across the meadow as he followed the path around a curve, disappearing behind a small copse of trees. Suddenly, the laughter stopped and Kíli's voice called back to them with a broken sob. “Uncle Thorin?! Fee?!” 

They all rushed forward, Bilbo's heart pounding a frantic cadence in his chest. Rounding the corner he froze in place beside the others, dread creeping into the deepest pit of his stomach. Kíli stood several yards in front of them, and at his feet was a bloated corpse.

“Kíli!” Fíli dove for his brother, only to be caught and held back in his uncle's strong arms. “Let me go to him!”

“No, lad.” Thorin's face was pale and pinched with fear. “If it's a dead goblin then the gases have already gotten on his skin. If he's contaminated, it could spread to you.”

“I don't care!” Fíli sobbed, pulling against his uncle's embrace. “I don't care! Kíli needs me!” He screamed desperately. Not once did his eyes leave his brother.

Thorin clutched the older boy to him, though Bilbo wasn't sure whether it was to keep Fíli from rushing forward or himself from collapsing.

“What do I do?” Kíli asked, his lip quivering slightly. “What do I do?!”

Bofur took a deep breath and a step forward, the usual smile absent from his face. “I want ya to take two large steps backwards, away from us an' the body.” Kíli complied with a small whimper. “Good, lad. Now, ya need to tell me what the body looks like, so we know if it's the plague or not.”

Kíli shook his head and squeezed his eyes tightly shut. “I don't wanna. Please!” His voice was small, “I'm scared.”

“I know, but ya gotta be brave an' help us here, so we can figure out what to do.” Bofur's brow knitted with lines of fret. “Ya can do it, lad. We're right here. It's gonna be okay.”

Taking a deep breath, Kíli opened his eyes and looked down at the corpse with a broken sob. “It's all puffy and the skin looks wrong. Like when you put too much air in a rubber ball and it starts to crack.” He paused, wrapping his arms tightly around himself, “And it smells worse than rotten garbage. Is that bad?”

Bofur cursed under his breath and Fíli collapsed to the ground, pulling Thorin down with him. Bilbo felt sick to his stomach, as if something had suddenly drained all of the air from his lungs. “What do we do?”

“Kíli, I want ya to listen good,” Bofur took charge, his steady voice a stark contrast to the haunted look in his eyes. “We're gonna go back to the cabin. I want ya to count to one thousand really slow an' then follow us. Go straight to the shed at the edge of the yard an' shut the door tight. I'll meet ya there.” He offered Kíli a reassuring smile, “It's gonna be okay, lad. I promise. Ya just gotta be strong.” Kíli nodded his understanding, his cheeks streaked with tears.

Getting back to the cabin proved difficult and Bilbo found himself half-dragging Fíli, who still fought to get back to his brother's side, screaming until his voice was hoarse and broken. Thorin was despondent, staggering blindly forward with a devastatingly lost look on his face. It was Bofur who got them back, then explained to the others what had happened. Bombur leaped up in a flurry of motion and began packing food and bottled water in to a basket, while Bifur collected bedding and a lamp from the sleeping loft. Bofur nodded gratefully to them. “Stay here,” He said simply, leveling an unusually solemn gaze at Thorin and Fíli before heading outside. 

They watched from the window as Bofur disappeared into the shed, returning a moment later without the basket and bedding. He moved back near the house and waited, shifting worriedly from foot to foot. After a few minutes, Kíli came in to view, his dark hair clinging damply to his tear-stained cheeks. He caught sight of his brother in the window and reached a hand towards him, sobbing out words that were lost through the glass. After a sharp look to Bofur, Kíli walked into the shed and pulled the door shut with a heavy thud. Bofur rubbed his eyes and swallowed thickly, waiting several minutes before approaching the shed. He spoke to Kíli at length through the thick glass window set high on the side of the building, offering reassuring smiles the boy couldn't see. When Bofur finally stepped away from the shed, his smile dropped instantly, tears streaming down his face as he snapped a padlock on to the door and walked back to the house.

“You locked him in there?!” Fíli was spite and anger as he lunged towards Bofur, stopped only by Bilbo's arm, which was wrapped around his shoulders.

“I had to, lad. He's been exposed.” Bofur looked sick, as if the guilt and fear were burning a hole in his stomach. Bombur moved silently to his side and put a comforting arm around his brother, catching his eye with a sad, knowing gaze. “He has food an' bedding an' a light. Everything he needs to wait out the onset. If he's still our Kíli in three days we'll be able to let him out.”

A horrified silence hung over the room as the implications set in. Bilbo squelched the emotion that welled up in his throat and voiced the question they were all too scared to ask. “And if he's not?”

Bofur opened his mouth to answer, but his words were drowned out by Fíli, who let out a keeling sob as if his whole world had suddenly been ripped to shreds. He cried bitter and broken and incoherent, his brother's name the only word on his lips. Tears cascaded like rivers down his cheeks, soaking Bilbo's shirt where the boy had buried his face in grief. “Kíli. My Kíli.” The words hurt to hear and Bilbo clutched the boy to him, fighting the dark, empty hole that threatened to take over his chest. “Kíli...”

While Fíli wept, Bilbo considered the other members of the company, searching for a way to help. Thorin looked completely lost, as if he no longer knew where he was or how to even begin to handle his sorrow. Balin sat next to him, resting a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder and murmuring soft condolences, his own eyes damp and trained heavenward. Pacing the room with undirected fury, Dwalin put an unapologetic hole in the wall with his first and another with the toe of his boot. Bifur's eyes were wide and beseeching, his thickly garbled words lost to anyone but Bombur, who patted his cousin awkwardly on the back with one hand, while still holding his brother with the other. Bofur's face was pinched, but he controlled the situation with a dark familiarity. “Ya can talk to Kíli thought the window. He'll hear ya, even if it's too high for him to see out.”

Fíli was out the door in a flash, with Thorin and Bilbo close behind. He leaped off the top step and hit the ground running, racing across the uneven yard like his life depended on it. Careening towards the shed, he thrust a hand up against the window and called out his brother's name in desperation, “Kíli?! Kíli, I'm here!”

“Fee?” Kíli's voice sounded little and shaky, distorted through the thick glass and weak with fear. “Fee, I'm scared.”

“I know. But it's gonna be okay,” Fíli sniffled and wiped at his eyes. “I'm going to stay right here with you, I promise. I won't leave you!”

“What if I'm infected, Fee? What if I turn in to a goblin?” The question hit them all hard, knocking the wind out of Bilbo and causing bile to rise in his throat. Thorin staggered beside him, as if his body was battling to remain upright and loosing. Bilbo reached out a hand to steady his friend and was surprised when Thorin leaned heavily against him.

Fíli let out a mewling whimper and shivered, as if the sun had been taken from his world, leaving only shadows behind. “You won't,” His voice held a sharp edge, trying to convince both his brother and himself that the words were true. “I won't let you.”

“Fee...” Kíli whispered miserably. “I'm sorry.”

“It's not your fault!” Fíli replied insistently, though his words were drowned out by his brother's sobs. Kíli cried, desperate and heartsick, until his voice went ragged and only occasional sniffles and moans were heard through the glass.

“What do we do, Uncle?” Fíli questioned through his tears. “How do we help him?”

Thorin stared off at the horizon, too lost in his own grief to answer his nephew.

“We talk to him,” Bilbo replied softly. “We talk to Kíli so he knows that he's not alone.”

Fíli talked for hours, filling the silence with memories of their mother, funny stories from their youth, and observations of the world outside. He described the sunlight, the sound of the wind in the trees, and the way the grass felt under his fingertips. He recited snippets of poetry and retold favorite books and television plots. As the day wore on, he pleaded into the gathering dusk, praying to the heavens for his brother's safety. Thorin tried to help his older nephew, but his thoughts were with Kíli and he didn't seem to be able to find the words. Instead, he paced back and forth in front of the shed, wiping at his eyes and looking wholly forlorn. 

So, Bilbo did what Thorin could not and took over when Fíli's voice finally gave out. He wove tales from his childhood, of life in The Shire, and of the loneliness he had felt prior to their knocking on his door. He talked long into the night, until both boys fell silent with exhaustion and the night crawled with shadows he couldn't chase away. With only the moon to bear witness, he uttered rhymes and promises to the boys who had become family to him. Bilbo spoke until the sun rose and his voice broke and Fíli took back over.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last two paragraphs were actually among the first things I wrote for this story. And still one of my favorite bits.
> 
> Well, we've met Bofur, Bifur, and Bombur. Did I handle them all right? I know Bofur especially is a fan favorite and I hope I do him justice.
> 
>  I know there are a couple die-hard Kíli fans who read this... I hope you don't hate me TOO much after this chapter.
> 
> Please leave a comment- reviews feed the muse and really help inspire me to write faster!


	9. Help in the Bear's Den

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HUGE hugs and thanks to everyone who has been commenting and favoriting this story! I'm glad you darlings are enjoying it! I have to give extra props to the people who have been reviewing every chapter- it really helps my writing and does a huge number for my self-esteem to get feedback every step of the way. You guys are awesome!

* * *

_Tuesday October 15, 2019  
Pine Bluffs, Wyoming_

 

The first full day of quarantine Kíli spoke back, answering his brother's questions with short replies and occasionally adding a forgotten detail whatever story was being told. Fíli seemed to take heart in his brother's involvement, knowing that every comment the younger boy made was proof that he was holding it together in the isolation and that the plague had not yet taken hold. The other members of the company took turns at Fíli's side, bring food and sharing stories and offering quite hope that they didn't necessarily feel. 

Bilbo took a break to stretch his legs and found himself drawn to the far side of the property where Thorin stared broodingly into the distance. Dark circles hung heavily beneath his eyes, the pinched lines on his face making him appear much older then his actual age. “We let our guard down.” Bilbo opened his mouth to reply, but Thorin pushed on, talking as much to himself as to the other man. “We got careless and now we could loose Kíli!” His words broke off in a strangled sob.

“There's still hope,” Bilbo said softly, as he reached a hand out to rest on Thorin's arm. “He's a strong boy, a fighter. And he's not showing any symptoms yet.”

“The first ones to fall were the women and children. The damned plague tried to take them all. It's no small miracle that I got the boys out of the city in time.” Thorin's shoulders shook with restrained tension and sorrow. He turned to Bilbo, their faces dangerously close together. “I felt safe here. It made me selfish. I just wanted a moment for myself, to feel something besides fear... I wanted to forget...” Their lips met in a rough kiss, all tongues and teeth and desperation. Bilbo sunk into it willingly. “Please, help me forget...” Thorin grabbed frantically at Bilbo's shoulders and pulled him closer, grief passing between them as they drank each other in.

“Wait... no...” Bilbo pulled back, blinking quickly to clear the lust from his head. “We can't... Not like this...”

Thorin's face changed from needy to confused to devastated to angered. “Fine. If you don't want-”

“-I do want!” He interrupted, reaching a hand up to brush Thorin's hair back from his face. “But not like this. I have to know it's not just a distraction from the fear. Do you understand?”

“I understand. I'm sorry. I just...” Thorin's eyes were a sea of hopelessness, desperate and lost and pained. “I was so bent on figuring out my father's message, then the bloody prophecy... and suddenly everything made sense! I thought the quest mattered- that maybe we could save the world... but I can't even save Kíli.” His hand clenched into a tight fist. “My nephews are the only bright lights left in this whole cursed world. If Kíli... if he... I don't think Fíli will be far behind.” Thorin collapsed to the ground and sobbed bitterly into his hands. “They're all I have left.”

Bilbo sunk to his knees, “You also have me.” He wrapped his arms around Thorin, holding him tightly as they both cried. 

* * *

_Wednesday October 16, 2019  
Pine Bluffs, Wyoming_

 

Kíli fell silent late in the afternoon of the second day, after complaining about a headache and the heat. No matter how much Fíli begged and pleaded, banging his fist against the window and sobbing his brother's name, there was no answer. Only Bilbo and Thorin stayed at the older boy's side, while they waited out the silence. The rest of the company kept to the house; peering out the windows with mournful expressions and whispering to each other with dark, knowing glances.

Fíli sat against the side of the shed, his eyes staring blankly forward as if he had forgotten who he was. His skin goose-pimpled from the chill of the air, but he paid it no heed. Nor did he respond to anything Thorin or Bilbo said to him with anything other then a vacant expression. It was though without Kíli, there was no Fíli, and Bilbo worried that Thorin's fears might come to pass. Thorin reached out to try and comfort his nephew, but Fíli flinched away, drawing his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around his legs. He curled in to himself, shutting out everything but his own heartache. 

None of them slept that night.

* * *

_Thursday October 17, 2019  
Pine Bluffs, Wyoming_

 

There were no words of encouragement or glimmers of hope in the company when the time came to open the shed. There had been no sounds from inside for over a day, except for the occasional shuffling of a body moving across the wood floor. Logic screamed that there was little chance of Kíli not being infected, and the bleak acceptance of what they were expecting to find was mirrored in every heavily guarded expression and tight-lipped nod. There was no way to prepare themselves, no manual for grief that could be read or studied, no words that could steady their hearts from wildly thundering in their chests. Every member of the company was present, even though their faces were heavy with guilt and sorrow and despair.

Bofur stood at the door, trying not to draw attention to the freshly sharpened mattock in his hand. He alone seemed to know what waited for them on the other side of the door, the grief of a freshly turned loved-one, and he was ready to end Kíli's suffering so his family didn't have to. 

Fíli moved to stand next to Bofur at the door, looking forward with the fatalistic resolve of someone who was facing down their own death. He didn't try to wipe away the tears that poured down his face, as wordless sobs tore from his throat in a silent plea. Thorin reached out as if he wanted to pull his oldest nephew back to safety, but his hand closed on empty air. It was Bilbo who took Thorin's hand and pulled him forward, until they were standing beside Fíli. Reaching out, he took Fíli's hand as well, and the three of them clung together as Bofur unlocked the door.

It was dark inside the shed and it took them a minute to locate Kíli in the gloom. His body was tucked into a tight ball, wedged in the corner of the building and shaking violently. Hearing the noise from the door, his head shot up, eyes wide and dark. For a moment no one moved.

“Kíli?” Thorin whispered the question and Bilbo felt the smallest bud of hope take root in his chest. 

For a long moment the boy just stared at them, and then fell forward, crying garbled relief into the air. Bofur's mattock hit the ground with a dull thud. 

That was all it took for Fíli to break free of his grief. “Kíli!” He rushed forward, gathering his brother into his arms and sobbing incoherent promises into the younger boy's dark hair. 

“Fee?” Kíli's face lit up in awe and joy, as if he had just been given back the sun after weeks in the shadows. He clung to Fíli, desperate and needy, holding on to his brother like a lifeline.

Thorin was on them in an instant, pulling Bilbo with him by their joined hands. There were tears and hugs and wordless thanks to the heavens, and Fíli's arm never moved from around his brother's shoulders. The other members of the company gradually went back to the house, clasping each others arms with grateful sighs of relief. 

There was no reason Kíli should have been spared. Bilbo knew this, but refused to dwell on the thought. What was important was that their little light was still with them, still sitting beside his brother on the bed, marking off another day on his calender. He would drift off to sleep curled in Fíli's arms, and wake them in the morning with forgotten nightmares. Their Kíli was safe. This was not the end.

* * *

 

_Monday October 21, 2019  
Pine Bluffs, Wyoming_

 

They stayed four more days with their friends to finalize their plans. Kíli was an unusually silent version of his normal vibrant self, but he recovered quickly at his brother's side with honest smiles and quiet laughs. Thorin questioned the wisdom of their continued journey, having narrowly escaped disaster and not willing to risk his nephews further. It was Balin who regarded his friend for a long moment before pointing out the obvious. “Someone has to do something, otherwise there won't be a world for the lads to grow up in. We'll just have to be more careful.” With that logic in order, they turned their designs to the map, searching for the closest place they might find a vehicle.

It was Bifur who offered a simple solution to their biggest concern. “We c'n tek m' cer.”

“Your car? What?” Thorin stared open-mouthed for a moment, trying to wrap his head around the other man's words.

“Yep. M' cer.” He nodded encouragingly, a huge smile spreading across his face.

Bifur explained, “He's got a Ford Bronco parked in the field behind the house. It ain't gonna be comfy, but it'll fit all nine of us.” He shrugged, stroking hesitantly at his pigtails.

“Who said anything about you lot coming with us?” Dwalin choked, his eyes narrowing skeptically. “Granted, you've helped us out a whole lot the last few weeks, but still...”

“Look, lads,” Bofur tugged the flaps of his hat into place and glanced at Bombur, who nodded. “We have the supplies an' the car, ya have a direction an' some grand plan.” Thorin looked affronted. “What? We've known from day one that ya ain't telling us everything. We've been catching little tidbits here an' there an' gather you've got a possible way to fix things. We want in on it.”

Dwalin stalled, unsure of what to say. “What about the guy who owns this place? Won't he worry if he comes home and you ain't here?”

Bifur cracked a beer and shrugged at them, “Dat ol' ber? I en't worried 'bout 'im.”

“He's right,” Bofur agreed with a bright smile. “Beorn ain't gonna care if we're here or not. We'll leave him a note- _Went to save the world. Ta!_ ”

“Beorn?” Thorin frowned at hearing their mysterious host's name for the first time. “Why does that sound familiar?”

“Because, Uncle, it means _bear_ ,” Fíli said, looking up from where he sat on the floor with Kíli on the couch behind him, fixing his braids.

“They will cross the Misty Mountains  
and find help in the Bear's den.”

Balin quoted slowly, his eyes meeting Thorin's in question.

The silence in the room was palpable, but Thorin broke it willingly, “Welcome to Mahal's Pride. We'll fill you in on the way.”

…

Bifur's Bronco was a great beast of a car, with two rows of bench seats and a cabin that opened into a large cargo hold. If anyone questioned the bright daisy yellow paint job or the oversized tires, they kept their thoughts to themselves out of respect for Bifur's gift. Having a car again would make their quest a much easier journey.

When the time came to leave, the boys scrambled into the very back of the car, tucking themselves in amongst the baggage, Kíli glued to his brother's side. It was to their unexpected delight that Thorin climbed over the back seat and joined them with a pleased grin. Bofur, Bifur, and Bombur took the middle seat, with Bifur muttering unintelligible curses at being crammed in between his cousins. Dwalin drove while his brother rode shotgun and Bilbo settled betwixt them. It was not the most comfortable or glamorous way to travel, but it was better then walking and they were all grateful..

* * *

“Why was Kíli spared?” Dusk set in and only Bilbo remained awake as Dwalin drove in the mounting gloom. A thought had been niggling at his brain for days, but there had never seemed to be a good time to broach it. He hadn't wanted to ask Thorin, who was too overjoyed by his nephews continued existence to look beyond it. Waiting in the darkness, he finally decided to voice the question to Dwalin, “Why didn't the plague take him?”

Dwalin pressed the toe of his boot a bit harder on the accelerator and shrugged, “Guess we were just lucky.”

“No, that isn't good enough.” Bilbo frowned and raked a hand through his hair. “I'm really not sure luck plays any part in this world.”

“What do you want me to say? That Mahal himself spared the lad? That ain't the way things work.”

Bilbo sighed, “There's got to be some logic behind it. Some reason...”

“The corpse was probably older then we guessed, past it's infectious stage. The plague doesn't take everyone. Or maybe it died of something other than the plague- It ain't like any of us saw it up close, only Kíli did.” Dwalin glanced over to regard Bilbo, “The lad's safe, why is it still bothering you?”

“Because no one questioned it.” He worried his hands together, trying to put his thoughts in order. “Because Kíli seemed to have the symptoms- I thought he was lost to us!”

Dwalin nodded slowly, “The lad ain't used to being on his own anymore. I doubt his brother has been out of his sight for more than a minute or two since they left home. He probably panicked at being locked up all alone... It would be enough to fuck any of us up.”

Bilbo considered it for a long moment, “So, you're saying it wasn't symptoms at all, just Kíli shutting down because he couldn't deal?”

“Pretty much,” Dwalin shrugged again. “You didn't like my luck theory, so this is all I got.”

“So many people have died...” Bilbo said, mostly to himself. “Not that I'm ungrateful, but it almost doesn't seem fair. So many lives lost and yet Kíli is spared.”

“But spared for what? This ain't a pretty world and if we don't find a way to save it there ain't much point in the boy living.” Dwalin glared at the road in front of them. “We've got a ways to go yet and there's a pretty good chance the whole lot of us will be dead before we even reach the coast.”

Bilbo stared into the path the headlights cleared in the darkness. “Maybe you're right. Maybe it is just luck.” The thoughts weighed heavily on his mind, but there was no way to lighten them. For now they were all alive and that had to be enough, because there were plans to be made and a world to save.

* * *

_Tuesday October 22, 2019  
Laramie, Wyoming_

 

The Bronco quickly ran low on gas and they spent the night crammed in the seats, parked in the lot of a ransacked convenience store, somewhere just inside Medicine Bow National Forest. When the first rays of sun glinted across the windshield, Thorin roused them from their slumber and gave them their orders. “Bombur, you're in charge of digging out some food. Your cousins can scour the store to see if there's anything of use left inside it. Dwalin, Balin and I will deal with filling up the car. Bilbo, you're responsible for keeping the boys safe.” Their eyes met for a long moment and Bilbo nodded, extremely pleased that Thorin trusted him with his nephews. Kíli was busy whispering into his brother's ear, his lips curved into a mischievous grin. “Listen here, you two!” Thorin snapped at his nephews, gaining their attention. “You lads are going to stay at the car with Bilbo and don't move an inch. Stay.” He backed away slowly.

“He acts like we're puppies he can order around,” Kíli said, his tone teasing. “You boys sit. Stay. Good doggies!” Fíli roared with laughter, and Bilbo could only shake his head and grin as he watched the boys laughing and clinging to each other as they attempted to keep from collapsing.

They paused long enough to consume granola bars and bottled lemonade, but otherwise worked the better part of the morning to siphon enough fuel to fill the Bronco. Bilbo was surprised at how little the boys complained about being tethered to the vehicle. He spent most of the morning watching as they sat together on the hood of the car, their heads inclined in quiet conversion as they snacked on the chocolate bar Bombur somehow procured for them. At first Bilbo marveled over how quickly Kíli had bounced back from his goblin scare, but the more he watched the boy, the more he realized that while Kíli's tone was light and his smile teasing, his eyes didn't hold their usual sparkle. More then that, as the hours passed, he noticed the open panic that crossed Kíli's face whenever his brother was not physically within reach.

Bilbo regarded the map as he sat in the shade beside the car with Bofur, Dwalin, and Fíli. Kíli was splayed out on the hood above them, all awkward sprawling limbs, snoring softly in the midday sun. The rest of the company stood on the other side of the Bronco, stretching their backs and preparing themselves for a long drive.

“I do believe we've lucked out by staying on the interstate,” Bilbo said as Thorin sunk down into the shade beside him, their shoulders brushing together. “This whole area of forest seems to be bordered by mountain ranges... it wouldn't be pleasant to have to muddle our way through on the back roads.”

Dwalin frowned as he stared at the map, tracing his finger along a small side road to the north of them. “Dammit,” He cursed, glowering at the map. “I know this place.”

Bilbo opened his mouth to voice a question, but was cut off by the shout of a strange voice. “Nobody move! Stay where you are!” Looking around, Bilbo realized they were shielded from sight by the car, and that the voice was talking to the rest of the company. He quietly lowered himself to peek out between the tires and saw three pair of combat boots as well as a set of red cowboy boots, all tucked in to the legs of containment suits. Cowboy boots paced, seemingly in charge. “I am Guard Captain Thranduil. You are now in the custody of the Mirkwood Protection Camp. Please remain calm, our ride will be here shortly.” A rumble in the distance turned into the squeal of tires as an old school bus pulled in to the parking lot. Several more guards in containment suits exited the bus and moved to round up the company. Bilbo peered up at his companions for a sign of what to do. Bofur chewed nervously on his lip, while Dwalin clenched his fist as if readying an attack. Thorin had his hand clamped tightly over Fíli's mouth, as the boy struggled to get to his sleeping brother.

“Get in the bus, please,” Thranduil's voice was intoned with bored authority. “We would rather not have to use the tasers, but we will if it means getting you to the safety of our Camp.” A collection of muttered curses and grumbles sounded from the captured members of the company, as they shuffled towards the bus. Bilbo strained to hear what they were saying, but was distracted when Kíli's sleeping form was drug bodily from the hood of the car. “A child? It seems we got here just in time. The world is not safe for children.”

Kíli awoke as Thranduil grabbed him and screamed, thrashing in the stranger's arms. “Fee! Help! Let me go! Fíli!” The terror in his voice was apparent, as were the broken sobs that followed his screams.

“Come, child. We will take you someplace safe where are other children for you to play with. Why, my own son is there and would enjoy having a new playmate.” Thranduil spoke as though he was trying to sooth a wounded animal, but Kíli was having none of it, kicking and gnashing his teeth as he wailed for his brother. 

As Thranduil pulled Kíli closer to the bus, Fíli broke free of Thorin's hold. “I can't, Uncle! I can't leave him! Not again!” He kept the volume of his voice low, but the pain and determination was apparent even in a whisper. “I'd rather spend the rest of my life in a Camp then have him be alone. It's Kíli, Uncle. Please!”

Thorin stared at his nephew for a moment, his eyes darkening with the memory of grief. Grabbing Bilbo's hand he pressed a kiss to the knuckles and whispered roughly, “Stay hidden. It's up to you to get us out of this mess.” Thorin grabbed Fíli's arm and dragging the boy to his feet. “Come on, lad. We're going with your brother.” 

Thranduil regarded them with measured excitement before herding them onto the bus with the others. Peering out between the tires, Bilbo saw Kíli fling himself into his brother's arms and Thorin cautiously glance out the window as the bus pulled out of the parking lot.

“Fuck those tree-humping bastards!” Dwalin spat, glaring at the retreating cloud of dust left by the bus. “This means war! Thranduil and his goons ain't taking our friends!”

“Well, now, let's stop a moment, please,” Bilbo stuttered, nervous of Dwalin's wrath. “I don't believe war is the best course of action here. There are only three of us. And they have tasers! Perhaps subterfuge is a better plan given the circumstances?”

“You want to be sneaky? God dammit! I want to kick his fucking ass!” One tattooed fist slammed heavily into the side on the Bronco, denting the door panel.

“I agree with Bilbo on this one,” Bofur fiddled absently with his pigtails. “Our best bet is to get our friends out an' be gone before anyone notices.”

They climbed into the Bronco and drove slowly in the direction of Mirkwood, with Dwalin pointing out directions as they drew closer. Parking the car in an empty clearing, they cautiously followed a small game trail until they could see the high chain-link fence that circled the camp. Their position was on a hill and they could see most of the grounds from that vantage point. A small stone cottage sat on one side of the clearing, smoke trickling out of it's chimney. “Thranduil's office,” Dwalin snorted. Three long squat wooden buildings stood in a long row, with another identical structure on the opposite end of the camp. “Barracks. The one on its own is where they keep the children.” An open-air kitchen stood in the middle of the camp, with a bank of latrines along the wall closest to their hiding place. An open area at the front of the grounds held several picnic tables, and a group of children played tag nearby. A small padlocked brick bunker stood in the farthest corner of the compound. “Quarantine.” There were two entrances to the compound- the first was a heavily guarded terminal, wide enough for a bus to enter. The second was a smaller padlocked gate that led out to a small shed at the edge of a river, which skirted the edge of the compound and disappeared into the distance. “Laundry.” 

Bilbo stared down at the grounds and pressed his palms together in thought. “How many of these camps are there anyway?”

“Before the power went out there were a dozen of them spread across the county,” Dwalin ran a hand over his head as he spoke. “Thranduil and the other Guard Captains tried to keep records on who was where, but it was hard with so many people pouring in every day. When we lost power everything sort of went to hell. No one was left to police the guards and Thranduil started doing things his own way. Balin always said he meant well, but his methods were shit. You can't force people to stay here!”

“So, what's the plan?” Bilbo asked with a forlorn glance at the others. “What do we do now?”

When Dwalin answered, his voice was uncharacteristically soft. “We watch. And we wait.” 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow... I'd forgotten how much happens in this chapter! And things just keep on moving.
> 
> I hope you're all happy that Kili is all right for now. He really lucked out! But now most of the company is trapped in Mirkwood... Any guesses on how they escape? Also... if anyone wants to draw fanart of Thranduil in red cowboy boots and a leisure suit, I would love you forever. :)


	10. Interlude: Bombur Before

* * *

_Before  
Nebraska_

 

Bombur never grew out of his baby fat. Even though he was an active child, he never shed the extra pudge that cushioned his torso and rolled at his joints. Instead he grew up thick and meaty and strong. By the time he entered grade school, he knew there were only three paths his life could take. He could be the tubby joker. He could be the oversized bully. Or he could be the fat kid.

Jokes were never Bombur's strong suit. It wasn't that he was stupid or lacked a sense of humor, simply that his brain turned a hair slower than he would like and it always took him an extra minute to pick up on the punchline. And he never had the perfect witty response or comedic timing- more often than not he would think of the best comebacks ten minutes too late.

Joker was out.

The first time someone picked on his little brother, Bombur could see himself being the bully. He used his bulk to knock the other child to the floor and then lit in to him with hammy fists. He was surprisingly quick for his size and the other boy didn't stand a chance. The only thing that stopped his blows was the look of terror on his brother's face. He didn't want to be frightening, especially not to his baby brother.

Bully was out.

Bombur was left with the third option. The undesirable choice. The thing he never wanted, but couldn't seem to escape. The fat kid.

No matter how well he excelled at his schoolwork, he was still the human garbage disposal. No matter how hard he tried at sports, he was always the butt of everyone's jokes. No matter how kind or pleasant or loyal he was, almost no one took the time to see through his hefty exterior to the person he was underneath the bulk.

So, Bombur ate.

He ate when the teasing got to be too harsh. He ate when he couldn't get a date to yet another school dance. He ate when his little brother excelled at social gatherings and he was left alone in the corner.

Bombur ate.

Well in to adulthood, Bombur packed away his feelings of inadequacy as he packed away the pounds and his heart grew as heavy as his own body. Food became a mask to hide behind, a comfort for when he was feeling sad, and a reward for making it through another day. He ate his feelings; a pastry for his fears, a sandwich for his regrets, a quiche his pain. He took delight in food the way some people take pleasure in the body of a lover; the ecstasy of a slice chocolate cake, the carnal comfort of a perfectly grilled steak.

Bombur ate it all.

It wasn't until tragedy struck that Bombur learned he could be something more.

His cousin laid in a hospital bed, his head split wide by shrapnel from a mining blast that ignited a moment too soon. He's wasting away, the doctors said. He's given up, they sighed. Just before visiting hours were over, Bombur pushed his way into the room with a bag of homemade peanut butter cookies hidden beneath his beard. His cousin's favorite childhood treat.

The cookies weren't magic. They didn't heal the deep chasms of flesh or repair the mental faculties that were slightly off center. But his cousin smiled and there was hope.

A smile. A reminded of better days. A moment of happiness. These were the gifts that food brought- the things that reminded him that food didn't have to be a crutch to fill the sadness, but that it could just as easily be a symbol of love when words were not enough. 

So, Bombur found his calling. Still tucked silently away on the sidelines he would watch and wait, and when someone he loved was feeling down, he would feed them. An ice cream cone after a hot day in the mines, crisp apples fresh off the tree, his mothers icebox cake. Food that was attached to memories.

Because food had the power to make the world a bit merrier and Bombur wielded that power with a quiet grace.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bombur is the single most difficult character for me to write. He's worse than Gandalf! He has no lines in the movie and the book writes him as one glorified fat joke. I didn't want to do that. So, he doesn't talk in 'Pride'... I wanted to do this little interlude so you could get a better sense of who he is (and you got a little Bifur background too!). I realize that Bofur is actually the older brother, but this is an AU so I switched things up for better effect.
> 
> Next chapter we'll get into Mirkwood, have a few totally random Middle Earth cameos, and see how many people hate my version of Gandalf.
> 
> Remember- leaving reviews, favorites, and kudos is a great way to let me know you're enjoying this story. And if you're not, let me know why. I've gone back and made several edits because of the comments I've gotten from reviewers. And thanks for reading!


	11. A Crow in Mirkwood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the thoughtful reviews! You guys are amazing!

* * *

 

_Friday October 25, 2019  
Laramie, Wyoming_

 

They kept watch in shifts, taking turns creeping back to the car for sleep and to gather supplies. For three days Bilbo, Dwalin, and Bofur watched the grounds of Mirkwood with no sign of their friends, who they assumed were being quarantined. When they finally did see the others, Bilbo found himself letting out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding. “They're safe!” Sure enough, strolling through the yard below them were Thorin, Bombur, Bifur, and Balin, looking no worse for wear. They seemed to be talking quietly amongst themselves, their demeanor a little too casual to be natural. Bifur looked around a little manically, and then let out a flute-clear call of _ee-oh-lay_!

Bofur clapped his hands together with a quiet whoop of joy. “That'a boy, Bif!” He returned the bird call with one of his own: _ee-oh-lay_!

“What are you doing?” Bilbo whispered in a rush, swatting at the other man with the flat of his hand. “You're likely to give away our position!”

“That's the plan,” Bofur explained, looking at Bilbo as though he were a thick-headed child. “That's a thrush call. We use it in the mines to get each others attention. Now the lads know where we are.” The captured members of the company were whispering frantically and pointedly looking everywhere except at the hill. Even at a distance Bilbo noticed that Thorin’s lips twitched into a brief smile that disappeared just as quickly as it had appeared.

“It's a start,” Dwalin announced with a pleased shrug. “Now we've gotta figure out how to communicate with them and how to get them out of that hell hole.”

“Communication is covered. As long as Bifur or Bombur are around we can use iglishmek.” Bofur tugged on his ear-flaps with a bright grin. “It's a sort of gesture-speak. Like sign language, only way more basic. It helps out when the noise in the mines is too loud to yell over.”

“That doesn't help us get them out though,” Bilbo sighed heavily, feeling an invisible weight settle inside his chest. “Not unless they've come up with a brilliant plan from the inside.”

“Not likely. Thranduil has that bloody place locked up tight. The only way Balin and I got out the first time is that we were supposed to be out tracking down survivors.” Dwalin glowered down at Mirkwood, as if a fierce enough glare would melt through the high fences. “And we haven't seen the lads yet. They ain't gonna be kept with the others, but we need to be sure they're okay.”

“Your boys are fine. I saw them just this morning,” said an altogether different voice from behind them. The three men jumped and Bofur's hand moved to his mattock, ready to ward off an attack. “Calm yourselves, I mean no harm.”

“Stormcrow.” Dwalin stared at the newcomer with a baffled expression. “You were living in the camp when we left. How the hell did you get out?”

“Oh, I have my secrets. You should know that by now.” The old man sat down beside them and brushed the leaves from his long gray bathrobe. His beard and hair were long and tangled, and he reeked of cheap alcohol and sweetly fragrant smoke. “More important than how I got out, is how are _you_ going to get in?”

“We could just walk in. They'd obviously rather have us in there than out here,” Bofur offered, though he raised a brow in obvious skepticism.

“Ah, yes. But then they wouldn't be keen to let you back out again, would they?” Stormcrow inclined his head sagely and chuckled, “The trick will be to get in unseen and to make a clean escape. I have every faith that you will figure it out.” With that he stood abruptly and began to walk away.

“Wait!” Bilbo grabbed at the man's robes. “That's not very much help at all! Can't you at least tell us something useful?”

“My dear, Bilbo, I already have.” He winked and then was gone, moving so fast through the trees that the others stood no chance in catching him.

“What was that about? Who was that? What...?!” Bofur sat open-mouthed, a look of utter confusion written clearly across his face.

“That was Stormcrow,” Dwalin growled, digging the heel of his boot into the dirt. “Best I can tell he's a homeless gray beard with a drinking problem. He's also the one who made our prophecy.”

“Are ya serious?” Bofur said, squeezing at the bridge of his nose. “So, we're driving cross-country, trying to avoid capture an' goblins... based on the ramblings of a drunkard who is a few cards short of a full deck?!”

“Well, yes, but we already knew he was crazy. The whole prophet thing clued us in to that,” Bilbo pointed out, surprising himself. “But apparently he can get in and out of the camp, and there's no way he could have just made up those signs! Not with the way they've been coming true! Plus he knew my name...”

With nothing left to say, the three men went back to watching Mirkwood, searching for an answer to all their problems. Not an hour later, they saw an apparently inebriated Stormcrow staggering between the barracks, then disappearing from view.

* * *

_Sunday October 27, 2019  
Laramie, Wyoming_

 

It was two more days before Bilbo and his friends finally caught sight of the boys. The morning air was crisp and cool, a strong breeze blowing towards them in a way that carried the voices from the camp softly to their ears. Several children were playing with a soccer ball near the front of a compound, their voices calling out happily to each other. “Estel! Legolas! Hurry up!” A plump redheaded boy yelled, dribbling the soccer ball across the ground with surprising agility. “You two can be on my team! We'll make the new kids take Arwen! She sucks!”

The dark haired boy frowned, “Be nice, Gimli. She's okay for a girl.” He stole the ball away from the redhead and kicked it over the thick line they had drawn in the dirt.

“That doesn't count, Estel! We haven't even started yet!” Gimli pouted for a moment, before turning to his other friend, “Hey, Legolas! I'll bet I score more points than you!”

The tall blond grinned, “You're on!” They bantered for a few more minutes, before a pretty brunet girl joined them, with Fíli and Kíli close behind. The boys appeared no worse for wear, though they stuck together and seemed to be looking around the compound for their friends. The sun caught in Fíli's hair like a golden halo and Kíli reached out to tug on one of his brother's braids with a playful smirk.

Soon the children were split into teams and Arwen took the soccer ball, dribbling circles around the boys. “If you want it, come and get it!” She laughed brightly and took off down the field, Estel right at her heels.

Bilbo found himself smiling as he watched the soccer match and forgot for a moment that his friends had been captured. Fíli turned out to be quite good at the sport, scoring several points before he lost track of the ball while stopping to check on his brother. For his part, Kíli seemed to enjoy the activity, though he kept close to his brother, occasionally reaching out to grab Fíli's arm, as if making sure he was really there. He had no knack for actually playing the game, oftentimes kicking at the ball and missing in an entirely comical manner which caused all the kids to laugh good-naturedly. 

The children played for over an hour before Thranduil showed up and shepherded them back into the barracks, pausing briefly to give Legolas an awkward one-armed hug.

“At least we know the lads are safe,” Dwalin commented with a relieved sigh. He rubbed a hand roughly over his forehead as his lip curled in disdain. “But we still have no clue how to get them out.”

 

* * *

_Monday October 28, 2019  
Laramie, Wyoming_

 

The next morning dawned bright and cheery, though Bilbo felt the very opposite should be true. He stared intently down at Mirkwood, shrugging off Dwalin's offer of breakfast with an irritated huff. In the camp, a group of adults sat at a picnic table and played cards, while two uniformed guards pushed carts of laundry out to be washed in the river. The barest beginnings of a plan danced on the edge of his mind, but the thought would not hold still long enough for him to capture it. Worn down and growing more annoyed by the minute, Bilbo didn't even register surprise when Stormcrow appeared suddenly beside him. “It's about time you showed up, gray-beard. I almost believed you had forgotten about us.”

“Forgotten you? Why, no, of course not.” Stormcrow retied the sash of his bathrobe and pulled a flask from its pocket, sniffing absently at the contents with a wrinkled nose before screwing the lid back on. “As for it being about time... I arrived precisely when I meant to. And it would serve you well to remember that.”

“It would serve _you_ well to remember that this whole business is your fault!” Bilbo snapped, usual niceties forgotten in the wake of his frustration. “You're the one who doled out this prophecy and named us Mahal's Pride. We wouldn't even have been _near_ Mirkwood had we not been following your blasted signs!”

“Huh.” Stormcrow tugged on his beard and chuckled, delighted by something only he could see. “I think there is more to you then meets the eye, Bilbo Baggins.”

“I'm fairly certain the same could be said about you,” Bilbo replied with a reproachful frown as he raked a hand through his hair. “I'm quite convinced that you speak in riddles for the sole purpose of confusing us! You can pass in and out of Mirkwood undetected, but don't seem to have the slightest inclination to tell us how! Why are you even here?”

Stormcrow regarded Bilbo with a calculated stare, “I will offer you whatever aid I can, but this task is yours. It is a burden you should never have had to bear, but the world is being unmade and we cannot change what is done. It is in Mahal's Pride that we must place our hope.” 

“Could you get us uniforms?” Bilbo asked suddenly, the stray bits of plan snapping together like pieces in a child's puzzle. The air around him seemed to buzz with excitement as he began sussing out the details to the escape. “We need guard uniforms.”

“Yes, I suppose that would be easy enough, though it might take some time.” The old man regarded Bilbo with startling clarity, his blue eyes sparkling as though he were quite pleased with himself. “Look to my coming at dawn on the fifth day.” He stood and dusted off his bathrobe, then strode off into the trees, disappearing from view.

“I take it ya have a plan?” Bofur asked with a speculative raised eyebrow. “Let's hear it then.”

Bilbo took a moment to gather his thoughts, then pointed towards the river. “This is the second time I've seen guards pushing those laundry carts out the back gate. They wash the clothes and bedding in the river, then lay it on the banks to dry. We need to pass ourselves off as those guards!”

Dwalin's eyes narrowed in thought, “You're thinking about hiding Thorin and the others under the laundry. Well fuck me, that might actually work.”

“You sound surprised,” Bilbo responded irritably. 

“How are we gonna to get inside? We can't just walk in the front door...” 

“Why not?” Bofur interrupted, his brow furrowed at the train of thought. “If we're dressed like guards, why can't we just go an' walk in like we belong there?”

“Because,” Dwalin began, then stopped, his mouth hanging open for several moments. “Huh. I think we have a plan.”

 

* * *

_Tuesday October 29, 2019  
Laramie, Wyoming_

 

The next morning Bilbo rose with the sun and spent the morning sitting with Bofur, staring down at Mirkwood. “May I ask you something? It's rather personal and not really my business, but...”

Bofur's left eyebrow disappeared under the brim of his hat. “Ya can ask whatever ya'd like, lad. I ain't saying I'm gonna answer though.”

“That seems fair enough,” Bilbo said with a nod. “Back at the cabin, when Kíli was exposed to the plague... I can't help but wonder how you knew what to do.” His lips tugged into a slight frown as he tried to figure out the best way to phrase his question. “Who did you loose?”

The silence stretched on for so long that Bilbo thought there would be no answer. He was just about to apologize for overstepping when Bofur turned to him and replied in a reverent whisper, “Her name was Jane.” The haunted look in his eyes spoke volumes about the ghost of a memory which never left his mind. He turned away, offering no more explanation as he gazed down at Mirkwood. Bilbo bit his tongue and pretended not to notice the tears that wove their way down his friend's face.

* * *

It was late afternoon when they caught sight of Bifur and Thorin, who appeared to be taking a slow stroll around the perimeter of the camp. Bilbo could see the tightness and worry in the set of Thorin's shoulders and spared a moment to wish he were there to comfort him. “Time to let the lads know about the plan,” Bofur said with a slight grin, before cupping his hands around his mouth and giving the thrush call: _ee-oh-lay_! They waited several minutes before Bifur and Thorin situated themselves by a tree, positioned in such a way that Bifur could look up into the hills while still appearing to be watching Thorin. 

“Okay... The trick is gonna be telling them 'bout the plan with the limited number of iglishmek signs,” Bofur frowned, his forehead creasing heavily in thought. After a moment, he made a slow gesture with his hand, pointing three fingers in a distinctive downward motion. “Three mornings,” he translated to Bilbo, who sat watching with interest. The next gesture consisted of a cupped hand moving in a sweeping motion, followed by a sharp tug on his shirt. “Mine cart... it's the closest sign... I just hope they understand.” 

They watched as Bifur animatedly explained the signs to Thorin, who clearly had trouble understanding his friend. At length he nodded, some of the tension easing from his shoulders and Bifur made a seemingly casual movement with his index fingers. “They'll be ready to move,” Bofur said softly, his eyes meeting Bilbo's with a fierce nod.

* * *

_Friday November 1, 2019  
Laramie, Wyoming_

 

As promised, Stormcrow arrived just as the sun began to peek over the horizon, its bright golden rays warming the morning air. He appeared in the same surreal manner as always and Bilbo couldn't help but wonder if the old man possessed some crazy old world magic that allowed him to move unseen. He sat down beside them, pulling a stray twig out of his long beard, “You will have to be quick to make this work.”

Bilbo blinked, “I don't believe we've told you our plan... No, never mind.” He shook his head with a defiant jut of his chin. “You seem to know too much and share precious little of your knowledge with the rest of us.”

Stormcrow's smile was soft and slightly condescending, “Yes, well, I suppose you think your plan is terribly clever. I have done my part and brought you uniforms, now it is your turn.” He pulled a folded bundle of fabric from within his robe and set it gently on the ground. “As I said- you will have to be quick. Thranduil left the camp sometime during the night and I do not doubt that he will be back within the next several hours. I will do what I can, but the fate of the others will be decided by you.”

Anticipation itched under Bilbo's skin, “We'll be in and out in a heartbeat. Thranduil's men won't even realize we were there until we're long gone.”

“Get on with it then and hurry. May the luck of the gods be with you.” Stormcrow stood and regarded them for a long moment, seemingly lost in his own mind. Shaking his head to clear away the thoughts, he started off down the path, muttering to himself, “All the years I have walked this earth and now I have no time.”

“Wait!” Bilbo called softly. “Aren't you going to come with us?”

“I'll catch up to you at Valinor,” Stormcrow said with a wink. “Don't worry- I know where you will be!” With a decidedly chipper laugh, he hurried off into the bushes, leaving them in stunned silence. 

“What the actual fuck?!” Dwalin protested, watching the old man's retreating figure. “Where does he get off-”

“We don't have time to worry about him,” Bilbo interrupted as he unfolded the clothing and looked at this friends. “There are only two uniforms here. Who should go?”

“You and Bofur,” Dwalin said with a resigned sigh. “I worked here, they might recognize me. I ain't gonna be the one who jeopardizes the plan.” He stared down at the camp with his lips clamped tightly, then pointed into the distance, “There is a service road a little ways down river. I'll grab the car and meet you there.” Bilbo and Bombur donned the uniforms quickly and traded good lucks with Dwalin, whose eyes were a little too bright as he clasped their hands.

Going back to the main road, the two disguised men made for the front gates of Mirkwood. “This is it then?” Bofur asked, the worry evident in his eyes. “An' ya think it'll work?”

“It has to,” Bilbo licked his lips nervously. “Our friends are counting on us.” They squared their shoulders and marched towards the gate, eyes straight ahead as they walked in without so much as a glance at the other guards. Once inside, they split up, Bofur heading to the barrack the men were being kept in and Bilbo going straight for the boys.

* * *

“It's about time!” Kíli blurted out the moment Bilbo entered the room, tackling him in a desperate hug. “We were in here for _days_!”

Fíli moved close and joined the hug, “We knew you'd figure something out. What's the plan?”

“Oh boys,” Bilbo allowed himself a moment of relief as he held them. Glancing around the room he quickly locating the half-full laundry cart, “We're going to smuggle you out with the laundry. Can we trust the other kids not to tattle?”

Kíli looked around at the other children, who stood staring at them, “My brother and I are leaving, guys.” He grinned, looking exceptionally pleased with himself, “Thanks for the fun... Good luck!” A few of the other kids called back similarly, but most simply went back to what they were doing before being interrupted.

Fíli smiled proudly at his brother, “He's been telling them every day that we won't be staying long. They pretty much expected you to show up.”

Bilbo smiled sideways at the boys, then shepherds them into the laundry cart. “Good! We need to move quickly- there isn't much time.” He hid the boys beneath a thin layer of laundry, then pushed the cart out the door, rolling it towards the adult barracks. 

Bofur met him at the door, his laundry cart already parked outside. “Can you fit Thorin in with the boys? There isn't enough room in this one!” Bilbo nodded and blocked the view of the door as a disgruntled looking Thorin dove into the cart. Both carts were heavy to push and strained at the seems, but Bilbo and Bofur put their backs into it with determination. No one batted and eye as they neared the back gate and pushed the carts through to the river.

“I don't believe that worked!” Bofur whispered giddily. “Just a few more yards an' we can run for it.”

“Just where do you think you are going? Today is not laundry day!” Called a disdainful voice from behind them. “Idiots!”

“Oh no!” Bilbo's head snapped around. “It's Thranduil! What do we do?”

Thranduil walked towards them, his red cowboy boots thudding dully against the pressed dirt. “I asked what you were doing? You had best answer me if you want to keep your jobs.”

“We, uh, we noticed the carts were full and so we thought it would be good to do the laundry. You, know, take initiative... Show our loyalty to the cause and all...” Bilbo was scarcely aware what he was babbling. “We just, you know, wanted to prove that you could count on us...” Next to him, Bofur nodded wildly.

“Ah, well, as much as I appreciate your initiative, why don't you bring the carts back inside,” Thranduil said with a bored drawl. “And next time wait until I give you directions.”

“Shit!” Bofur cursed, glancing at Bilbo for directive. “What now?”

Bilbo's heart thudded loudly in his chest, “I don't rightly know.”

Suddenly, Stormcrow was beside them, popping up uncannily from behind a fencepost. “Good afternoon, Thranduil! The weather is perfect today for a stroll,” He took a step forward and seemed to stagger.

“Stormcrow? How did you get outside of the fences?” Thranduil's eyebrows disappeared into his hairline as he boggled at the old man, “Come back in here at once! You'll have to be quarantined... again!”

The gray-beard pulled the flask from his pocket and appeared to drink heavily, though most of the liquor trickled down onto his robe. “I'm coming, I'm coming... “ He hiccuped loudly and stumbled into one of the laundry carts. Although he smelled strongly of alcohol, his eyes were clear and focused as he whispered to Bilbo, “Be ready to fly, you fools!” He lurched through the gate, tripping as he neared Thranduil and barreling in to the other man.

“Run!” Bilbo whispered urgently, pulling back the laundry that covered his friends. “Dwalin is down river with the car! Go! Run!” The company needed no more urging as they quickly climbed from the laundry carts and took off down the riverbank. Thranduil's shouts echoed behind them, but no one stopped to pay heed as they raced towards the car and their freedom.

* * *

They toppled over each other as they crowded into the Bronco, racing off down the road before Thranduil and his men could make chase. Bilbo found himself riding shotgun while Thorin crowded himself into the very back with his nephews, hugging the boys close with an uncharacteristic gentleness. The rest of the company was much the same in their reunions, brother holding brother, as they shared tales of their time apart and the almost-brilliance of their rescue plan. 

Bilbo busied himself by sorting through the glove-box and his backpack, looking for anything useful that might have been forgotten in their haste. The glove-box contained a stale pack of gum, outdated insurance information, and various parking garage receipts. In his backpack he discovered a bottle of aspirin, Fíli's dogeared copy of The Odyssey, two boxes of granola bars, and the small knife he found in the Mines. In the very bottom he unearthed some renegade pain relievers, which he scooped up and dumped back into the bottle for safekeeping. Bilbo slipped the knife inside his jacket pocket and absently shoved everything else back into the bag. Cramming the backpack against the door like a pillow, he stared out the window and tried not to feel isolated; the others had brothers and nephews and cousins... he had no one. The loneliness that had been held at bay slowly crept back to take root in his chest, growing and spreading through his heart until every beat pounded _alone; alone; alone_.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I first wrote this chapter, I was worried that it would be boring, because it was a lot of sitting around. Then I kept adding little bits (Bofur/Bilbo's convo, the soccer game...) and in the end I'm really pleased with how it turned out. I hope you guys are too.
> 
> What did you think of Stormcrow? I genuinely love Gandalf in the Tolkien universe, but I think during 'The Hobbit' he spent way too much time wandering off and not paying attention to the quest he started. I'm not going to get in to all of my opinions regarding him and Bo5A and the changes in his demeanor between the Erebor quest and the one in LotR... but let's just say that he frustrates me during 'The Hobbit' and so I had a difficult time figuring out what to do with him here.
> 
> Did you enjoy the little cameos during the soccer match? I couldn't do Mirkwood without having Legolas make an appearance (there are a few readers who would have my hide if I didn't include him!).


	12. Interlude: Bofur Before

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kili may have escaped infection, but most people are not so lucky.

* * *

_Before  
Nebraska_

Her name was Jane and she was everything that was bright and beautiful in the world. Her father was the foreman of the Misty Mountain Mining Company and she grew up a gemstone in the dust of the earth. Her hair was the deepest shade of onyx and her eyes were brighter than the bluest sapphires.

For Bofur it was love at first sight.

The mines were a paradise of infinite discoveries and they fell in love amidst the clang of iron and endless dusk. When he was feeling especially cheerful, he would whistle _'Love Me Do'_ as she took his hands and showed him the richest veins in the quarry.

She was more at home with a pickax than a sewing machine, though she tried her hardest to be domestic. He proudly wore the disaster of a hat she made, even though the ear flaps wouldn't lay flat and the brim was crooked. He sang her _'Love Me Do'_ as she took his hands and danced him around the kitchen of their shoebox apartment.

He put a tiny diamond on her finger and swore that no gemstone could ever shine as brightly as her smile. Her 'yes' was so fierce that for a moment he forgot how to breath. _'Love Me Do'_ played on the radio as she took his hands and made love with him on the living room floor.

When the world went to hell, they escaped into the woods and started a new life. Wedding plans were replaced with provisioning and they whispered the lyrics to _'Love Me Do'_ to remind them of happier times. She took his hands and promised they'd be all right so long as they were together.

She went willingly into the shed after finding the plague-corpse, and pushed a box to the window so she could stand on her tiptoes and see his face. She made him promise to remember how to smile and laugh, no matter what happened. In two days she was gone and a monster wore her skin. He cried _'Love Me Do'_ as he took his mattock in his hands and granted her peace.

Her name was Jane and she was everything.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes the brightest smiles hide the deepest pain. :(
> 
> A few people have noticed that we're roughly following the same locations as The Hobbit (though, we won't be for much longer). Any guesses as to where our heroes are heading next or who they might encounter when they get there?


	13. The Lake Town Dudes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments and reviews and favorites and random Tolkien-related conversations. I have the best readers ever! 
> 
> This chapter contains some harsh language and a small Bagginshield moment. At times it might border on crack. Welcome to Esgaroth, dudes! ;)

* * *

_Saturday November 2, 2019  
Salt Lake City, Utah_

 

They entered Salt Lake City with caution and trepidation, as big cities tended to bring big trouble. Around them, the marshlands and mudflats spread out for miles in all direction, broken only by the multitude of lakes that gave the area its name. Bilbo peered out the window as the Bronco pulled to a stop on the outskirts of town. He had come to discover that the larger cities were the worst- the haunting emptiness of vacant homes and offices, and the eerie silence that settled over the streets. Worst of all were the reminders of the lives once lived- a waterlogged photo album, an overturned suitcase packed with clothes, a teddy bear left in the rubble and speckled with what could only have been blood. Proof that mere months go, there were people living their day-to-day lives in blissful ignorance. Bilbo spared a thought for Ori and his brothers, wondering how their quest was going and hoping for their safety. He turned in his seat and looked back at the rest of the company. Dwalin and his brother shared a silent conversation beside him, mouthing words that only the other could understand. Bofur and his kin were wedged in the center bench, heads pillowed in their arms as they tried to sleep. The only one who seemed to be getting true rest was Thorin, who was stretched out against the luggage with his nephews wrapped around him and each other. 

As if on cue, Kíli's nightmares started, the boy shuttering and whimpering softly in his sleep. Bilbo bit his lip; even though most mornings began this same way, his heart still ached every time the usually bright-eyed youngster cried out in his sleep. Fíli woke instantly and knelt at his brother's side, stroking his back and whispering nonsensical promises. He always seemed desperate to find something to comfort the younger boy, some way to chase away the terrors he couldn't see. Genuine relief eased the strain of Kíli's face and he opened his eyes, slowly blinking up at his brother. “Morning, Fee.”

“Morning yourself,” Fíli said softly, smoothing his brother's unruly hair back from his face. “Nightmares?”

“Dunno,” Kíli shrugged it off, stretching his arms above his head with a yawn. “The car's not moving- did we run out of gas or find a sign or something?” Kíli's dark eyes danced with mischief as he poked his sleeping uncle in the ribs. “Wake-y, wake-y, Uncle Thorin!”

Thorin jolted awake, swinging his arms as if to ward off an attacker. “What?” Noticing Kíli's smirk he glared at he boy, though his look lacked any real venom. “Idiot! I should smack you upside your head for that!” His words were harsh, but there was amusement written in the lines of his face and his eyes regarded his nephews with a surprising gentleness.

Dwalin coughed loudly, drawing attention to the front of the car. “We're entering Salt Lake City. It might be best if we're all awake and on guard. There ain't an easy way to skirt the city, so we're gonna have to go straight through.” Everyone shifted nervously in their seats as the car rolled slowly into the desolated metropolis.

The roads were laid out in a grid pattern, which should have made for easy navigation. Many of the streets were surprisingly dead-ends, stopped with heavy road blocks which forced them to drive a block or two over before continuing westward. “Why do I feel like we're being herded?” Bilbo asked, uneasily. “Most of these road blocks make no logical sense. But we're definitely being pushed towards the water.”

Dwalin growled his agreement, “I was thinking the same thing, but we ain't got much choice.” He maneuvered the car down a side street, turning again when they reached another road block. “Shit!” The car slammed to a halt at a make-shift gate. “What the hell is this?” Before anyone could answer, the doors to the Bronco were pulled open and they were wrenched from their seats.

“Welcome to Eagle Gate College- Lake Town campus! Are you dudes friends or foes?” The man speaking had dark hair and a soul patch, his t-shirt boasted a heavily muscled eagle logo that was mirrored on the clothes of his companions.

“Friends! We're certainly friends!” Bilbo stuttered out, holding his hands up to show he wasn't a threat. “I'm Bilbo Baggins and these are my friends. Thorin Oakenshield and his nephews, Dwalin and Balin... confound these introductions!” He fluttered his hands in hapless irritation. “It doesn't matter, now, does it? At any rate, we mean you no harm.”

“Sweet!” The leader threw back his head and laughed. “You dudes need to come in and join the party! I'm Bard, welcome to Esgaroth!” He led them inside a large bunker-like building, which turned out to be a converted rec center. Manual gym equipment lined one wall, several men actively working out on the weight benches and elliptical machines. A collection of mismatched leather couches took up a large corner or the room, situated around what appeared to be the contents of an entire liquor store. A dozen people milled around on the couches, including two women in exceptionally short skirts.

“Whoa!” Kíli's eyes were huge. “This place is _awesome_!” Fíli smacked his shoulder with an open palm, wordlessly telling his brother to be quiet.

“What is this place?” Thorin asked, struggling to keep his face stoic.

“This is Esgaroth, bro!” Bard spread his arms wide and turned in a circle, proudly showing off his domain. “Best fraternity in Eagle Gate College- don't let those Dragons tell you otherwise!” A collective _boo_ sounded from the direction of the couches. “All these dudes are part of the Personal Fitness Training program. Or, we were before the world got screwed.”

“So, you escaped the plague,” Thorin frowned slightly. “And you're planning on surviving by...” He trailed off, regarding Bard with a raised brow.

“Survive? Dude, are you an idiot? No one is gonna survive this shit.” He laughed, a few of the others joining in. “But if the world's gonna end, we might as well send it out in style! Let's drink and fuck and be merry, bitches!” A resounding cheer echoed throughout the room.

Thorin gaped wordlessly, his mouth open in shock. “As lovely as that sounds, we really do need to be going,” Bilbo pointed out, nudging Thorin sharply with his elbow. “We're on a tight schedule you see...”

“No, man! You gotta stay and party with us!” Bard drawled. “Just a couple days- it'll be epic!”

“I really don't think we can, though your offer is surely appreciated,” Bilbo said with a sideways glance at his friends.

“Yo! Bard! Dragon assholes spotted out on the road!” The young man who spoke quickly slammed shut the heavy steel door and bolted it with a curse.

“Sorry, bros, looks like you're stuck here,” Bard shrugged apologetically. “You don't wanna fuck with the Dragons.”

“And who, exactly, are the Dragons?” Bilbo asked in irritation.

“Rival frat. Digital Design students who always try to steal our pledges during Rush Week,” Bard glowered in the direction of the door. “They got pissed when we took all the booze, so they've been trying to flush us out of here. Asshats!”

Bilbo shook his his head, unable to wrap his brain around the situation. As bizarre as their journey thus far had been, nothing quite compared to being trapped in a converted gym in the midst of a turf war between rival fraternities. “Surely there has to be a way we can get out?”

“No way, bro, the only way out is through the front door and they'll be watching the streets.” Bard shrugged, casting an appraising glance at the company. “Those douches will probably wander off in a day or two- they usually do. In the mean time help yourself to the booze and get coma'd.”

“Er, yes, well, I do believe we'll try and get a bit of sleep instead.” Bilbo crossed and uncrossed his arms absently. “At least myself and the boys, I don't suppose I can speak for the rest.” He looked as though he was going to continue babbling, but Thorin stepped in a grabbed his elbow. Dwalin took a case of beer and the company moved to the farthest corner of the room, settling on the floor with the map spread out between them.

“What's the plan now, lads?” Balin asked softly, glancing around the room to make sure no one was close enough to hear them. “I don't fancy a fight with these Dragon folk, but I'd rather not be stuck here either.”

Dwalin cracked a beer and took a long, noisy swig. “Well, we ain't going anywhere tonight, that's for sure.”

Thorin stared down at the map, his finger lightly tracing over the path from Salt Lake City to the coast. “We're roughly 700 miles from our goal. If we're able to drive straight though we'll be there in a days time.”

“But we never make the ideal time, do we?” Bilbo asked with a wry laugh. He rubbed a fist over his tired eyes and sighed, “700 miles means stopping for gas and that never goes well. Not to mention road blocks, dealing with goblins, pausing to sleep and eat, recovering from injuries...” He ticked off the points on his fingers, “And that doesn't even begin to cover time spent sitting in quarantines, or Protection Camps, or escaping from this ridiculous place! Plus, we've still got to expect to fill one more line of the prophecy along the way. The battle for Erebor.”

The silence stretched for an uncomfortably long time, broken only by the din of the parting in the background and the occasional sound of beer being swallowed. Eventually Fíli breaks the quiet, “But we've still got time. Uncle, you said we had to be at the Valinor Corporation by the second week of November. We still have time, right Kíli?”

The younger boy dug into his coat pocket and pulled out his calender. The corners of the cover were dirty and bent, but he smoothed them with a quiet reverence. “It's November 2nd. We have over a week to make it.” Kíli looked down at his hands, his hair falling to block his face from view. Tracing his fingers over the dates in his calender, he whispered miserably, “We missed my birthday.”

“Oh, Kíli!” Fíli put an arm around his brother and pressed a kiss to his hairline. “Once we save the world we'll throw the best party to make up for missing birthdays and holidays and everything.” He stroked his brother's back soothingly, ignoring the tears that gathered in his own eyes. “I'll make it up to you! I promise!”

“But it won't be the same, Fee!” Kíli's voice was slightly frantic, his dark eyes wide and damp. “It won't _ever_ be the same. Not with how the world is now. Not without mom.” He tried to pull back from his brother, but Fíli tightened his grip, his hands fisting into Kíli's shirt as he rocked them back and forth. Thorin moved closer to his nephews, silently rubbing Kíli's back and letting him cry himself out. Eventually Kíli stopped sobbing and his breath deepened as he feel asleep with his head pillowed against his brother's chest. 

Fíli carefully settled himself back against the wall, his own eyes heavy and red. “He'll be fine in the morning. It's just been a rough couple of days is all.” He brushed the hair back from Kíli's face with a sad smile, “A good nights sleep and he'll be back to normal.” There was a fierce determination in his eyes that challenged anyone to say otherwise. No one in the company said a word.

* * *

 

_Sunday November 3, 2019  
Salt Lake City, Utah_

 

Late night crept into early morning, but still Bilbo could not sleep. He sat against the wall, looking out across the room with his hands folded in his lap. On the far side of the building the frat boys of Esgaroth dropped off one by one to the affects of alcohol. In their own little corner of space, the rest of the company dozed fitfully, their heads pillowed on their arms, bodies tucked close together for safety, comfort, and warmth. Bilbo wished he could sleep, but there were too many thoughts racing in his mind for him to find rest. 

He was so caught up in his musings that he jumped with surprise when Thorin sat down beside him. “Couldn't sleep?”

“No, not really,” Bilbo shrugged. “I guess I'm not used to all this space. I sleep better in the car.”

“Are you sure that's all?” Thorin's eyes were questioning. “You seemed to be thinking awfully hard about something...”

“I suppose I was.” He sighed, “I'm not entirely sure I want to have this discussion. Not here. Not now.”

Thorin quirked a brow curiously. “Everyone else is asleep. When will there be a better time than this?”

Bilbo frowned, but consented to the logic. “I just feel confused is all.” 

“Confused? About what?” Thorin turned so that he could regard Bilbo fully.

“Us.” He draws the word out and leaves it to die slowly. 

“Us?” It may have been a trick of the light and the shadows across Thorin's face, but Bilbo thought he saw the hint of a smile.

“Yes, well, it seemed that you might be interested in me... And Fíli certainly said that you were, but he's young so what does he really know... And then you kissed me, though the timing was all wrong, what with Kíli and the goblins... Then there was Mirkwood and you were trapped for so long, and we really haven't been alone since then... And I know you have more important things going on, like your family and the quest... I'm nothing special at all, and I completely understand if I've misread things...” His voice began to tremble and he had to force himself to continue, “I'd just like to know where we stand is all.”

“Fíli told you I was interested?” Thorin tilted his head with an amused grin.

“Yes,” Bilbo huffed. “Everything I said and _that's_ what you choose to comment on?!”

Thorin's grin melted into a soft, comforting smile. “My nephew was right.”

“He was?” Bilbo allowed himself to meet the other man's eyes.

“He was,” Thorin nodded and twined their fingers together. “There is much more to you than meets the eye Bilbo Baggins. You treat the boys like they're your own blood and stand up to me when no one else will. There were times when this quest would have been over before it had begun were it not for you. You are exceptionally loyal and brave and kind. And beautiful...”

Bilbo felt himself blush and was thankful the darkness hid it. “You would have done just find on this quest without me...”

“No, I don't think we would have.” Thorin reached out and traced his thumb over Bilbo's jawline. “Of all the things I expected to find at the end of the world, you were not one of them.”

“And are you pleased to have found me?” He whispered, bravely moving so their lips were mere inches apart.

“Yes,” Thorin breathed and kissed him. It was more hesitant than their first kiss, soft and questioning and lovely. It was everything Bilbo thought a kiss should be.

“This is everything I could ever want,” Bilbo murmured against Thorin's lips, as he carded his fingers through the other man's hair. “Even with everything else, the good far outweighs the bad.”

Thorin sighed his agreement and they gave up words in favor of putting their lips to far better use.

Time became meaningless as they shared kisses and hesitant touches in the stillness of the night. With the others asleep nearby there was no privacy, so Bilbo contented himself with trailing his hands over Thorin's broad chest and kissing his way along the heavily bearded jawline. Too soon someone in the distance stirred and they pulled apart with bruised lips and embarrassed smiles. Bilbo found the whole experience wonderful and heady and marveled over how much Thorin felt like _home_. There would be time for more once the world was saved and Bilbo let sleep claim him with a contented sigh and the feeling of Thorin's fingers entwined with his.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that I don't hate Bard... and I don't think he's necessarily a bad guy in this story... but I already have a giant cast of heroes and needed something different. Also, I'm of the opinion that if/when the world ends that there are going to be some pretty bizarre situations and differing opinions on how to handle things. That being said- I'd love to know what you think of Bard and Lake Town so far (I handle criticism pretty well, so don't worry if you don't love him).
> 
> How will our heroes get out of Lake Town? Will Esgaroth be forced to fight the Dragons? Will Kili be back to his usual chipper self in the morning? STAY TUNED!


	14. Esgaroth vs. the Dragons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, my worry over Bard was unfounded! It seems like a lot of people liked him and most of the rest of you were willing to tolerate him for the sake of the story! Thanks again for all the lovely and thoughtful reviews. You guys are amazing!

* * *

_Sunday November 3, 2019_

_Salt Lake City, Utah_

 

Bilbo woke late in the morning to the sounds of Kíli's nightmares and the snores of a dozen hungover frat boys. Thorin dozed beside him, looking unusually peaceful stretched out in the mid-morning light. Bilbo spared him a pleased look and stretched, feeling the kinks in his shoulders loosen and give way after an uncomfortable night on the floor. Glancing around the dimly lit room, he wondered abstractly why it was that he slept so much worse in the relative safety of Esgaroth than he did in the cramped confines of their car. Reflecting quietly on that thought, he realized that it was because he didn't like trusting the safety of his friends to strangers. He'd much rather be facing goblins with Thorin at his side then hiding in a gym and hoping Bard would protect them. Bilbo had gone with Thorin and the boys on a whim- the last ditch effort of a lonely man- but along the way he had grown to think of the entire company as his family. He was remembering what it meant to care for someone else so much that you'd step outside of your comfort zone and even put yourself in danger in order to keep them safe. He had stood up to carjackers, fought goblins, engineered an escape, and discovered that he had more to offer then he ever dared imagine. If anyone had asked him a year ago if he believed in fate, Bilbo would have laughed and answered them with a solid no. Now, between the prophecy and the plague and the possible existence of Mahal, he couldn't help but wonder if it was more than chance that brought Thorin and the boys to his door. Looking at Thorin's sleeping form, Bilbo felt his heart swell inside his chest. If push came to shove, he would go out and face the Dragons by himself in order to secure his friends safe passage for their journey westward.

A soft murmur of voices cued Bilbo in to the fact that Kíli's nightmares were finished. Sure enough, the boy was awake and grinning at his brother ruefully. The spark seemed to have returned to his eyes, though his face was lined with dirt and exhaustion. "Morning, Bilbo!"

"Good morning, boys!" He smiled a little too brightly. "Once the others wake up, we can see about getting back on the road. Surely those Dragon folk will have gone by now."

"Not likely," Bard's voice was slurred and he swayed slightly as he walked over to them. "We checked the door an hour ago and those jackasses were still out there." He belched, then reached a hand down to scratch vigorously at his crotch. "They've got a couple bonfires going in the street, like they're planning to smoke us out. As if!"

"How long do you think they'll stay out there?" Thorin's voice was thick with sleep, though his eyes were clear. Around them, the rest of the company began to rouse themselves.

"Dunno," Bard shrugged. "Sometimes a day, sometimes a week. Hell, once we got up in their jocks and kept them locked in the student center for two weeks! It was epic!"

"Two weeks!? We can't stay here two weeks!" Bilbo waved his hands in annoyance. "That simply will _not_ work. We have a schedule to keep."

"Bro, I don't know what to tell you," Bard rolled his eyes. "You guys need to chill and take a load off. Have a little fun, get coma'd, take one of the girls for a spin..." He waved his hand and one of the young women walked over. She had long red hair and wore an exceptionally short green dress. Her eyes were ringed in black make-up that had smudged and repaired one to many times. "This is Tauriel. She'll show you a good time. Maybe the little blond dude wants to get his end away with a real girl?"

Fíli made a strangled sound in his throat and turned beet red, his eyes widening comically. "Err, uh, no thank you?" He stared intently at his feet, as if hoping the ground would suddenly open up and swallow him whole.

"Suit yourself," Bard said with a waggle of his brows before he leaned in and kissed Tauriel sloppily. "I'll be back in a few with some libations!" Swinging an arm around the girl he pulled her off towards the couches, where their laughter carried across the room.

"Well, that certainly was interesting," Bilbo started. "Probably good you turned down that offer... She's most likely riddled with parasites."

"Best. Day. Ever!" Kíli crowed, grinning as though he had just been given a secret he could hold over his brother's head for the rest of their lives. "Seriously, Fee, I've never seen you that red! It's even worse then the time mom forgot to bring sunblock when we went to the beach for the weekend!"

"Shut it, Kíli," Fíli stuttered, turning brighter red as he curled in on himself in embarrassment. Kíli exploded into laughter, glee dancing in his eyes as he grinned at his brother.

Before any more could be said, Bard returned with a tray of drinks, passing beers around to the men and handing plastic mugs to the boys, "Apple soda." Kíli set his glass down at the table, too distracted by the prospect of teasing his brother to care about refreshments.

Fíli buried his face in the mug and downed the drink in one go before trading it for his brother's full glass. "Leave me 'lone."

Kíli laughed uproariously, clutching his stomach as he tried to catch his breath. "Kíli, stop teasing your brother," Thorin's words were stern, though there was a hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "We have more important things to discuss."

"Lik gettin' 'way frum dees idjets," Bifur grunted as he glared over his beer at the frat boys, who appeared to be engaging in an arm wrestling competition.

Bofur grinned at his cousin, "Ya know, if this is what college is like I'm sorta glad I never went." He tugged his hat further onto his head and shrugged, "I can get pissed at home an' it costs a hell of a lot less than tuition."

"College isn't all drunken parties," Thorin pointed out. "I did my fair share of studying along the way."

Dwalin nudged his friend with an elbow to the ribs. "You mean you did some studying in between parties."

"Well, I, ah..." Thorin grinned ruefully. "I did manage to graduate, you know!"

Their reminiscence was broken by Fíli, who sudden burst into hysterical giggles and tipped over where he sat. "St-studying... Ha!" He choked on his laughter, eyes glazed and slightly out of focus, "I use'ta st-study...!" Everyone in the company stared at him in open confusion.

"Fee?" Kíli's smile slipped away and his eyes clouded with worry. "Uncle, what's wrong with him?"

"I'm not sure," Thorin frowned. "Fíli, lad?"

"Wha'... what're...?" Fíli broke out in a fit of giggles and tried to sit up, succeeding only by clinging to his brother like a sloth.

Thorin reached forward and snatched the nearly empty mug from his nephew's hand. "Apple soda?! This is apple schnapps!" He slammed the mug down so hard that the plastic cracked. "That bastard got Fíli pissed!"

Before anyone had a chance to respond, Fíli's laughter turned to a low moan, "I don't feel so well..." With that he promptly upturned the contents of his stomach onto the floor and slumped over.

"I'm going to kill him!" Thorin growled, clearly torn between tracking Bard down and tending to his inebriated nephew.

Kíli moved to pillow his brother's head in his lap, stroking the blond hair back with a leery gaze. "He's not gonna barf again, is he?"

"Most likely," Bilbo responded as he critically regarded the ill boy. "Best thing we can do is get him to drink some water and sleep it off. He'll be fine though, Kíli. Don't worry. He'll have a horrible headache, but he'll be perfectly fine." The relief was obvious on Kíli's face as he coaxed his brother to drink from the bottle of water Bombur handed him. Bilbo couldn't help but sigh and think that it was going to be a _very_ long day indeed.

* * *

_Tuesday November 5, 2019_

_Salt Lake City, Utah_

 

The following forty-eight hours passed in a blur for Bilbo, who divided his time between keeping an eye on the boys and keeping Thorin from killing Bard. It was a surprisingly difficult task, as Kíli couldn't seem to stop teasing his brother, and Thorin's rage was so palpable that Bilbo was sure the veins in his forehead would burst. For their part, the Esgaroth frat boys carried on with no regard for their guests; they spent their days lifting weights, doing keg-stands, sharing spliffs, and having sex- much to the chagrin of the company.

Frequent checks out the front door showed that the Dragons were not only still there, but increasing in number as time progressed. They now had three large bonfires burning outside the rec center, the pyres glowing white hot against the gray of the sky. Bard and his friends paid little attention to the activity outside, stating only that a confrontation was inevitable between the two fraternities.

"Seriously, bro, it was gonna happen eventually," Bard said with a careless shrug. "Those fuckwads have been up our asses for months. You dudes have some bad timing."

"Yes, I'm beginning to think so," Bilbo rolled his eyes up to stare at the ceiling. In his mind, he knew there should be some worry or even terror building at the prospect of a battle with the Dragons, but when it came down to it, the only thing he could think about was the prophecy and being back on the road with his friends. In truth, Bilbo Baggins was righteously annoyed. "But look here, Bard, the thing is my friends and I have to leave. Now, I don't know if you have a plan to deal with the Dragons, or if you just plan on hiding in here until you run out of food and die. But the way I see it, you should stop sitting in here like babies and go out and show those guys who's boss! You've got a dozen of the most ridiculously muscled men I've ever seen! Surely you can stop a few computer geeks with campfires from squatting on your front lawn!" He huffed, stamping a foot down on the floor for good measure. "So, either you go out there and deal with them, or I will. And then we'll see if you can still rule over your frat brothers after they've seen you outdone by a middle aged gentry!"

Bard stared at him with a look of dumb amazement, a expression that was not far off from the one on Thorin's face. "Whoa, dude. You're kinda intense. Chill out. I'll deal with it." Bard moved to the center of the room, raising his arms out and calling attention to himself. "Yo! Brothers of Esgaroth! The Dragons have been on our doorstep long enough! Are we gonna let those dumb asses take our beer and screw our women?" A resounding cry of _no_! rang throughout the gym, coupled with an impressive number of fist-pumps. "Alright, bros! The time has come for us to fight! Let's get out there and show those Dragon pussies what we're made of!"

Bilbo and the company watched in astonished silence as Bard and his friends donned their armor of football helmets and hockey pads. They armed themselves with dumbbells and baseball bats and the heady purpose of men going off to war. Last shots of liquor were taken, final kisses to the girls given, and they fist-bumped each other with solemn nods of resolve. Bilbo couldn't help but wonder if he had made the right decision in encouraging these young men to go into battle. He didn't know what lay beyond the door or what weapons the Dragons might possess, but he hoped desperately that no one would perish in the fight.

"You did well, lad." Balin's voice was gentle and edged with pride. "We all knew we were wasting time here, but you were the only one who thought of a way out."

Bilbo flushed with a pleased embarrassment. "I'm quite sure someone else would have come up with a plan soon enough. And truly, it only happened because they made me so incredibly _irritated_! Honestly! What type of person offers alcohol and sex to children?! And all that fatalistic rubbish about not being able to save the world! Well, of course you can't save it if you don't even try!" He took a deep breath, trying to keep himself from getting worked up again. "The important thing is that they're going to open that door."

"Don't sell yourself short, Bilbo," Thorin breathed softly, his lips brushing Bilbo's ear as he whispered. "You're like a bear with her cubs and I hope I'm never on the other side of your wrath." Without waiting for a response, Thorin grinned and pitched his voice louder to address the entire company. "We don't know what's out there, but our main objective is to make it to the car and get moving. We stick together and don't stop for anything else."

Dwalin eyed each of his companions measurably. "These ain't goblins, people. These are living breathing humans who still think and feel. That means they could be a hell of a lot more dangerous if they decide to attack us. So, don't do anything to draw attention to yourselves. Don't provoke them!"

"The car is nearby, but what about the gate that stopped us in the first place?" Bofur said, as if he'd been mulling it over. "An' what if they've damaged the car?"

Bilbo tensed, his heart pounding in his chest as the potential gravity of the situation set in. How would they possibly escape a city at war with no vehicle and no supplies? His face crumbled slightly, but he chose not to voice his concern, because they had no other choice. No matter what waited outside the door, they had to face it. They had to get to the coast.

Thorin looked at his friends and gave and a small, confident nod. "I'll handle the gate and Dwalin will drive. Bilbo, please keep an eye on the boys. The rest of you just get into the car as quickly as possible. If the car has been lost to us, then we keep moving. We don't stop until we're out of this godforsaken city."

"Brothers of Esgaroth!" Bard moved in front of the door, like a general commanding his troops. "You dudes have never failed me! Not even the time when I got dumped by that blond bitch and drank so much tequila I passed out and almost drowned in the toilet! You bros pulled me out and were there for me! We're brothers until the end! Go now and speed well, dudes. Let's kick some Dragon ass!" Cheers echoed from the rafters as the doors were thrown open and the Esgaroth fraternity brothers rushed forward.

Bilbo peered around the door frame and took in the scene before him. Bard fought at the center of the pack with his frat brothers fanned out around him, their bats and fists thudding heavily against the bodies of their foe. The Dragons countered with torches and rocks and lariats made from computer cables. Though smaller in stature, they held their own by keeping the Esgaroth fighters from getting in too close. A garbled scream sounded as one of Bard's friends was caught by a lariat, the terminal end gouging in to the soft flesh of his neck. One of the Dragons fell under the weight of a thrown barbell, the side of his skull caved in by the force. Both sides screamed and threw insults, fighting against their long-standing rivals with years of pent up aggression.

Just beyond the ring of fighting, Bilbo could make out their car, seemingly untouched behind the gate. He ducked his head back inside, just in time to see one of the high windows of the rec center broken in by a flaming missile. The fire caught instantly on the liquor soaked carpet, flames lapping over the furniture and racing towards the store of alcohol. "Oh dear..." Bilbo gestured wildly as his lips seemed unable to form words. The temperature spiked as the heat flushed their skin and scorched the air.

"Move! Now!" Thorin leaped into action, grabbing Fíli with one hand and shoving the boy towards the door. "Go! All of you!" Fíli tugged at his brother's sleeve, pulling him along as the entire company raced for the exit. Dwalin led the way as they rushed out into the street, pausing momentarily to get their barrings before moving onward. They dodged punches and fallen bodies, occasionally laying in to one of the Dragons who ventured too close to their group. Reaching the car, Bilbo offered a small prayer of thanks that it appeared untouched. He herded the boys into the back and climbed in after them, doing his best to keep Kíli's curious face away from the windows. The others tumbled into the car after them, cheering as Dwalin put the key in the ignition and the engine turned over.

Outside, Thorin drug the gate out of their way, clearing a path wide enough for the Bronco to fit through. Just as he finished, one of the Dragons caught sight of them and closed in, spinning his lariat in the air like a lasso. "Uncle Thorin!" Fíli screamed desperately, trying to alert his uncle to the danger. Thorin turned a moment too late, and the cord whipped harshly against his back, flaying the skin open. He staggered, surprised by the onslaught, and a second blow fell just below the first. Bifur sprung from the car and ran forward, slamming his fist hard in to the Dragon's face. The man fell, clutching his broken nose and screaming obscenities that were muffled by a mouth full of blood. Bifur grabbed Thorin and helped him back to the car. Once both men were inside, Dwalin put the Bronco in gear and pointedly ran over the downed Dragon on their way out of town.

Bilbo and the boys looked out the rear window at the wreckage they were leaving behind. Bodies of the injured and dead littered the street, coated with blood and ash and tears. The battlefield was bathed in fire and in the middle of the din Bard fought on, looking for one fleeting moment like a warrior from an epic tale facing down his own likely death. Then the car turned a corner, blocking the battle from view. "Do you think Bard and any of the others will make it out?" Kíli's voice was almost inaudible.

"I don't know." Bilbo turned away from the window and pulled both boys close. "I just don't know." Behind them, the sky seemed to glow with a red haze as sparks danced up into the night and Esgaroth burned.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that was Lake Town...
> 
> Next chapter we're going to check in with the 'Ri brothers and see how their side-quest is going. :)


	15. Interlude: 'Ri Side-Quest, Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for all the comments and kudos. Huge props to the people who have been commenting on every chapter- you're seriously amazing!
> 
> Now... let's see what the 'Ri brothers are up to...

* * *

_Friday November 1, 2019  
Wyoming_

 

The forests of Wyoming stretched out for miles in all directions, trees shooting up towards the sun and encircling the muddy side-road the Charger was driving along. Dori sat primly in the backseat of the car, peering through the treetops for signs of the sun or a glimpse of the neighboring mountain ranges- anything to grant him proof that they were still traveling in the correct direction. He tore his gaze away from the landscape and turned a critical eye to his two younger brothers, more out of habit than necessity. 

Nori drove the Charger with a single-minded focus, occasionally swearing loudly as the car hit a pothole or a rough patch in the road. Without thinking, Dori reprimanded him, earning himself an elaborate eye-roll for his trouble. He was accustomed to the middle brother's attitude, but still couldn't help but wonder where he had gone wrong in raising Nori. Their parents had passed away while Dori was still in college and he had moved home to care for his brothers. Overnight Nori had gone from a slightly mouthy teenager to a moody, chain-smoking hooligan, hell-bent on making Dori gray with worry before he hit his thirtieth birthday. Dori had done his best to reign in his brother's increasingly wild behavior, but he seemed to spend more time bailing Nori out of trouble than actually imparting any great wisdom on the teen. Now, well into his late twenties, Nori was still more trouble than Dori could rightly handle, though he would never give his brother the satisfaction of discovering that particular fact.

Ori was much easier to raise, never asking for anything other than books or comfort when he was sad. Even as a child the youngest brother was always eager to please- going out of his way to help with the housework, focusing hard on his studies, and staying out of trouble. Whatever Dori asked of him, Ori did without complaint. At least until the world went batty. It was because of Ori that they were tucked into a stolen car, out amongst all the sickness and danger, and traveling towards a goal that shouldn't even exist. Trying to find a god- Dori tutted to himself at the thought. He was much to practical a man to believe that they would succeed at that venture, but Ori was determined. Honestly, it stood to reason that Ori was an easy child, because he apparently had been saving up all his rebellion for this one grand act. Still, as Dori looked over at his youngest brother, he found he couldn't be too upset. Sweet little Ori was curled up in the passenger seat, his mittened fists balled up under his chin as he dozed. Dori bit back a small smile and leaned back to rest his own eyes.

* * *

The forest thinned out as they closed in on the Idaho border, but things were never easy and the Charger blew a tire on the outskirts of a razed farm. Dori huffed to himself as they exited the car to survey the damage, equal parts irritated by the inconvenience and glad for a moment to stretch his legs. Fortunately, they were prepared for such an occurrence and Nori made quick work of changing out the tire.

Dori busied himself by checking in on Ori, straightening the boy's sweater and wiping a smudge of ink off the bridge of his nose. He couldn't keep the fond smile that spread on his lips as the youngest boy bristled under his fussing. Dori was just about to point out that it was his given right to be mother-hen when the bushes behind them snapped and they were set upon by goblins.

Nori was on his feet in an instant, pressing the tire iron into Dori's hands as he drew a serrated hunting knife from his belt. For a moment Dori was tempted to inquire where the knife had come from, but his suspicions were lost amidst the fighting. The brothers fought back-to-back, Ori wielding a baseball bat with little finesse while Nori did an unsettling amount of damage with his knife. Dori struck with the tire iron and tried to divide his attention between his brothers, desperate to protect them both from harm. It was no use, he couldn't keep watch over them both and attempting to do so left him open for attack.

A loud crack sounded and something sharp sunk deep into the flesh of Dori's hip, splitting him open and sending him sprawling onto the pavement. One of the goblins was on him in a heartbeat, it's bulging eyes focusing with fierce intensity. He felt around for the tire iron, but it was nowhere to be found. Suddenly, Nori was in front of him, his nose bloody and broken, swiping at the monster with the keen edge of his knife. Somewhere to their left Ori screamed as a goblin broke through his guard, digging its teeth into the soft skin of the youngster’s left arm. Dori struggled to crawl towards his baby brother, but a strong blow landed against the side of his head and left him seeing stars. Through the haze he watched helplessly as one of the goblins tore the ring out of Nori's lip just before the boy managed to gut it. Dori tried to stand, but the world was spinning and spinning and then everything went dark.

* * *

The following days were lost to Dori except for bits and pieces that filtered through the blackness into his consciousness. The Charger moved, so he knew they had either won or escaped more or less intact. He had fleeting memories of Nori fiercely guarding his prone body as he lay on the blood covered pavement. He could vaguely remember Ori dressing his wounds and whispering calming words into the darkness that surrounded him. Somewhere a coherent thought caught Dori unaware and he suddenly found himself faced with a startling truth. His brothers were no longer little boys in need of being mothered and cared for. Instead, they had somehow turned into fine men while he was too busy fussing over them to notice. Closing his eyes against a wave of pain, he trusted that Nori and Ori would take good care of him. 

His brothers had grown up and Dori was proud.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The relationship between the 'Ri brothers is one of my favorite background bits in the first film. I hope we get more of them in the other two. :)
> 
> Next chapter we'll be back with the rest of the company in Erebor... And you darlings know by now that nothing is ever what you expect it to be!


	16. The Battle for Erebor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for all the comments/favorites/follows. You guys are seriously amazing! I'm having as much fun chatting with you all in the comments as I am writing this story! As a side note, I'm PirateColey on tumblr if you want to come fangirl about dwarves there as well. :)
> 
> When we last left our heroes they were escaping from Lake Town, though Thorin was injured. Now the company is rushing towards the coast.

* * *

_Wednesday November 6, 2019  
Nevada_

 

They stopped sometime in the night and greeted the new day by dressing Thorin's wounds. Deep welts crisscrossed his back from the lariat, the raw edges of flesh a vivid red against the paleness of his skin. Bilbo sat with him on the hood of the car, carefully applying salve to each of the angry crimson lines. Thorin didn't say a word as he pulled on a clean shirt, though he cringed slightly as the flex of his shoulders pulled at his injuries. Bombur produced a bottle of rum from his jacket and they passed it around in silence. There were none of the toasts or cheer that would normally accompany a good drink, but the entire company spared a moment to feel grateful that they were all still alive. 

“To Mahal's Pride,” Bilbo whispered so softly that no one heard, and his words were swallowed by the night.

* * *

 

_Wednesday November 6, 2019  
Battle Mountain, Nevada_

 

Dwalin drove through the night, intent on putting as much distance between themselves and Salt Lake City as possible. Everyone was on edge as fighting humans had proved much more emotionally draining than fighting goblins. No one chatted or paid much attention to their surroundings, and even Kíli sat completely still against his brother's side. Early morning sun crept over the peaks of the nearby mountains, scattering golden rays over the hood of the Bronco and making the daisy yellow paint job appear to glow. A small river raced parallel to the highway, twisting and turning along side them before it disappeared around a bend. With half a tank of gas left and miles more to travel, the companions found themselves surprised when Dwalin pulled the car into a nondescript parking lot and shut of the engine.

“Why are we stopping?” Thorin peered out the window and followed Dwalin's gaze across the deserted parking lot. “You've got to be joking.” 

A small sign hung crookedly on a fence post: _Erebor Mini-Golf_.

Erebor boasted having 18 of the best mini-golf holes in all of Nevada, though Bilbo would never have known that were it not written at the bottom of the sign. The course was stretched out across a concrete lot, with a ticket booth at the beginning and a small gift shop at the end. The greens themselves were AstroTurf and in fair shape, but many of the obstacles were missing, leaving nothing more than cement slabs and bolt holes behind. A few of the holes appeared relatively intact; #6 had a small water feature that trickled down the center of the path, and #8 had what appeared to be a blacksmith's hammer swinging like a pendulum over the green. In the distance, Bilbo could see that #18 still had a large faux mountain built up over it- almost twice his height with a tunnel cutting through the middle for the ball to pass through.

A cursory search of the grounds yielded two golf putters and a bucket of brightly colored balls, but little else.

They stared across the course in silence, trying to discern what possible importance a dilapidated mini-golf course could possibly have on their quest. Finally, Balin stepped forward and tugged on his beard as he recited the prophecy.

“When the End of All comes  
he who bears the Key will  
enter the Last Homely House  
and a company will be formed.

They will cross the Misty Mountains  
and find help in the Bear's den.  
When the battle for Erebor is won  
they will seek and free Valinor.

Then, only then, will Mahal's Pride  
begin to re-forge the world.”

“I don't see anything dangerous here. What kind of battle does it mean?” Kíli asked, standing on his tip-toes to get a better look around. 

There was an earnest longing in the boy's gaze that made Bilbo's heart ache. “We should play,” he declared, watching Kíli brighten noticeably at the suggestion. “It will take but an hour and give us all a chance to stretch our legs. The prophecy has been right so far, so it stands to reason that something is meant to happen here.” He caught Thorin's eye and looked pointedly at the boys.

“What? Oh. Yes. We should play a round,” Thorin agreed with a sigh that blossomed into a laugh upon seeing his nephews excitement. “All right then! Bilbo, the lads, and I. Anyone else?”

“I'd love a go!” Bofur chimed in with a crooked grin. “I used to play 18 holes at Pebble Beach every summer.” He ignored the looks of surprise and happily chose a neon yellow ball out of the bucket.

“Anyone else?” Thorin selected a royal blue ball and rolled it absently between his palms. “Dwalin?”

“No way in hell,” Dwalin snorted, with a roll of his eyes. “You kids have fun. I'm gonna see if I can't figure out why we're supposed to be here.”

Thorin paused for a long moment, looking like he'd rather be helping with the quest. “Keep your eyes peeled for danger, after all the prophecy did say the _battle_ for Erebor.”

Bifur sniffed, his eyes bobbling around in his head, “Mebby gulfs da battle.” He ran his thumb over the thick scar on his forehead, as if trying to manually jog his thoughts, “Dum game.”

Bombur smacked his lips absently as he turned to the boys and covertly passed them a bag of crisps, a gentle smile showing through his beard. He tottered off after his cousin, laughing softly as the boys tore into the treat with exuberance.

“Play your game. Who knows what you might find that our searches won't,” Balin suggested with a measured look. “Living in danger changes people- let the boys have a moment to feel safe and happy.”

“Well, that settles it,” Bilbo picked up a neon pink ball and tossed it lightly in the air- catching it easily. “Just the five of us then. Come along!” He led the way to the start of the course.

The first hole was called _The Carrock_ according the small plaque next to the tee. A steep ridge ran the length of the hole, gradually getting higher until it dropped suddenly off directly above the hole. Kíli went first, knocking his turquoise ball forward with such enthusiasm that it bounced off the side of the ramp and landed in the dirt beside the green. Fíli managed slightly better; his ball sailed part way up the ramp before it fell off and rolled to a stop near the hole. Thorin and Bilbo fared much the same, but Bofur made a clean putt and send his ball all the way up the ramp, where it tipped the edge and landed right in the hole.

“Hole in one! Yes!” Pumping his first into the air, Bofur grinned at Kíli, “That's how it's done, lad!” With that, the competition became fierce.

They played through the next holes with similar results. Bofur dominated the same with an easy grace, taking the time to help the boys adjust their stances and showing them how to properly grip their putters. Fíli took to the advice and improved with each hole, sending his ball spinning around obstacles and dropping cleanly into the hole. In typical fashion, Kíli half-listened to Bofur's tips and then promptly forgot them, swinging his club with obvious excitement and not caring where his ball ended up. He took extra strokes, moved his ball when he thought no one was looking, and generally made a ridiculous nuisance out of himself. His whoops of joy and gleeful laughter rang a little too loudly across the lot, but apart from Thorin's occasional frown, no one had the heart to dampen the boy's happiness. 

On #6, _The Running River_ , Fíli took two strokes to get his ball in the hole without landing it in the water. Kíli peered at the green, then at the water, then back at the green, before purposely dropping his ball into the faux river. “Ha!” Cackling in triumph, he watched as the ball was spit out from the water and dropped cleanly into the hole. “Take that, Fee!”

“I'll just have to beat you next hole!” Fíli announced, turning on his heels and walking away as Kíli laughed uproariously behind him.

By hole #8 the adults had all but given up on playing, choosing instead to watch the boys race around the course, chasing the balls and each other. Fíli and Kíli laughed with pure lightheartedness and none of the heavy edges of fear and stress that normally showed in their eyes. When they finished playing one hole, Kíli took off at a dead run towards the next, with Fíli hot on his heels. Their game was far from fair, as both brothers used elbows and hips to bump the other out of the way. Balls were blocked with boots and clubs and all semblance of rules were long forgotten in the din of laughter. 

Bilbo found himself marveling at the boys; Kíli- with his big eyes and bright grin, and Fíli- who shined like sun once he let his guard down. As he watched their carefree antics, Bilbo realized he was getting a glimpse of what they must have been like before the plague. Before they lost their mother. He turned to share his observation with Thorin, but found the other man had left and was busy scrutinizing the map with Dwalin.

Kíli abandoned all pretense of actually playing mini-golf and bounded around the course, laughing hysterically as his brother tried to catch him. Hole #18 was called _The Lonely Mountain_ and the fiberglass structure proved the perfect height for Kíli to climb. Scaling the faux mountain he chortled, “Look, Fee! I'm king of the mountain!”

Fíli sized up the mountain and growled, realizing it wouldn't hold their combined weight. With a sudden flash of inspiration, he crawled into the tunnel at the center of the hill, his laughter bouncing off the fiberglass walls. “Yeah, well I'm king _under_ the mountain!”

Kíli slid off his perch and squeezed next to Fíli in the cave, “Whoa. It echos in here! ECHO-O-O!” His words reverberated, causing both boys to laugh and shout out more words. “HELLO-O-O!”

“Will you two stop that!” Thorin snapped, his lips pursed in irritation. “In case you've forgotten, we're trying to figure out a prophecy and hopefully save the world. We're not on a school field trip!” He pinched the bridge of his nose as if warding off a headache. “I can only put up with so much of your childish behavior. This is neither the time nor place for it!”

Kíli recoiled as if he had been punched in the gut. The smile on his face melted away and he stared at his uncle with a broken expression. “Uncle Thorin?”

“You know nothing of how the world functions! You're just children!” Thorin's shoulders tensed as he turned away from his nephews, completely oblivious to the injured looks in their eyes. “Now sit quietly and let us work!”

Fíli's arm crept around his brother's shoulders and Kíli pressed closer, blinking quickly to ward off tears. “We'll go wait in the car and stop bothering you,” Fíli said in a small voice. His lip quivered slightly as he led Kíli back towards the parking lot.

Bilbo felt absolutely useless, a feeling that left him with a tight knot of guilt in the pit of his stomach. Part of him wanted to run after the boys, but he knew there was nothing he could say that would make them feel any better. Instead, he trusted that Fíli would know what Kíli needed better than anyone else ever could, and that the boys would take comfort in each other. 

While the rest of the company looked uncomfortable, Thorin was already lost in his map, oblivious to the pain he had caused his nephews. Bilbo felt a strong, foreign kind of rage surge through his body. “How could you do that, Thorin?!”

“How could I do what?” Thorin glanced up with an annoyed expression. 

“How could you yell at Fíli and Kíli like that?!” Bilbo stormed closer to the other man, glaring up at him with a fierce scowl. “They were only trying to have a bit of fun!”

Thorin crossed his arms tightly, “They were being loud and distracting me.” His mouth curved into a tight-lipped grimace, “They were acting like children.”

“They are children!” Bilbo all but shouted, his heart pounding hard against his chest. “Goodness, Thorin! I know this quest is important, but it's not worth loosing them!”

“Loosing them? I'm doing this to save them! So that there's a world left for them to live in!” Thorin exuded righteousness. Bilbo looked and knew that a prideful virtue was running through his friend's veins, loud and hot and all-consuming.

“What good is living if they loose everything that makes them alive?!” Bilbo's eyes stung and he tried his best to fight off the tears that threatened to fall. “What would Kíli be without his laughter? Or Fíli without his smile? I know you're scared! We all are! But just because we've taken on the burden of this quest doesn't mean the boys have to bear it as well!”

Thorin glared at Bilbo, the ire clearly apparent in the plains of his face. “You've barely known us for months! How dare you pretend you know what's best!” He growled as his arms dropped to his sides, hands clenching into fists. Anger rolled off him in waves and colored his stance, walk, stare, and even words in a blanket of red haze. 

“I don't pretend to know what's best!” Bilbo rubbed the nape of his neck, struggling to find the words to make Thorin see his own madness. “When we were at Rivendell College you told me that those boys were the only thing that kept you from giving up! That you would give _anything_ for them to have normal lives! That you would never deny them any sort of happiness!” He voice raised in anger and he moved drastically closer to Thorin, stabbing a finger at the other man's chest. “What do you think you just did?! Do you honestly think Fíli is going to let his guard down again after you yelled at him? Do you think Kíli is always going to bounce back when bad things happen? One of these days you're going to look at those boys and there's going to be nothing left worth saving! They're going to be shells of themselves! They're going to be you, Thorin! They're going to be you!”

They glared at each other with fire in their eyes and the air tense and crackling between them. Bilbo's eyes flickered away for a split second and Thorin's fist connected with his face, sending him sprawling backwards. 

For a moment neither of them moved.

Bilbo raised a hand to his face, gingerly touching the tender flesh that was sure to blossom into an angry bruise. He lifted his head and looked up, the tears falling unchecked down his cheeks. “I think this was the battle, Thorin. The battle for Erebor.”

The tension suddenly left Thorin's body and he crumpled to the ground beside Bilbo. His voice was ragged and choked with tears, “Did we win?”

“Yes,” Bilbo answered softly as he wrapped his arms around the other man, pressing a kiss to his hairline. “I think we did.”

Thorin leaned heavily in to the embrace, “I was caught up in the quest and forgot there is no point in surviving if we forget how to live. In the midst of all this darkness I lost sight of the light...” He paused and raised his head, looking at Bilbo with weary eyes. “Thank you for reminding me.”

“I'm fairly certain you don't have to thank me,” Bilbo brushed the tears from his face. “Isn't that what friends do? Remind you of what's important...”

“No, it's more than that,” Thorin's lips twitched with the ghost of a smile. “That's what family does.”

The last traces of emptiness left Bilbo's chest with a heavy whoosh of breath. “That's what we are then, all of us, a family.” He laughed softly, caught up in the notion, “Mahal's Pride.”

“I'm sorry I punched you, Bilbo. You didn't deserve that,” Thorin's voice sounded hesitant. “I owe you an apology and I owe the boys one as well. I was wrong.”

“Apology accepted. I can't say that I enjoyed being hit, but I certainly did provoke you.” He slid his arm from around Thorin and stood up, offering a hand to the other man. 

Thorin reached up and took his hand with a grateful nod, “Are we okay?”

“Yes,” Bilbo gave a theatrical roll of his eyes. “Go talk to your nephews.” 

“Do you think they'll be all right?” 

“I think they're stronger than we give them credit for,” Bilbo said softly as Thorin turned and headed towards the car.

* * *

They drove more than 300 miles through the night in slightly awkward silence. Whatever Thorin had said to his nephews seemed to have eased their minds, though the last vestiges of hurt feelings still hung heavily in the air. The boys sat opposite their uncle, with Kíli tucked tightly against his brother's side as they both dozed restlessly. Bilbo found he had little trouble sleeping; after so much time together the various snores and breaths of his companions had become a soothing lullaby to combat the too-quiet night. He slept easier than he had in a long time, filled with the happy knowledge that he had found a place where he truly belonged. It didn't matter that the place was an over-stuffed car rolling across the border into California, what mattered was that when Bilbo was surrounded by his mishmash family, he was home.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Were you expecting a physical battle? Too bad! There is still violence left to come, but it was important for this chapter to be another kind of fight.
> 
> Some of you have noticed that we've been following roughly the same path as in 'The Hobbit'. Well, we've just moved past the book and left it completely behind. The rest of the story ventures off into other parts of Tolkien's mythos, so it'll be interesting to see if anyone can figure out the main inspiration before we get to the end. :)
> 
> Next time we'll find out what Fíli and Kíli were like Before... and also more about Dís and Thorin and how the end of the world began.


	17. Fíli and Kíli Before

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sat down to write a fluffy little piece about Kili's love of reality TV (since it's been mentioned a few times in the story). Instead, I ended up writing a series of snapshots over the last year of life Before. It was nice to get to write Dis (even for just a moment) and to show what the boys were like when things were still good.

* * *

_Thursday August 23, 2018. 8:59 PM  
Ann Arbor, Michigan_

**Can LaShawnda forgive Sara for stealing her man? Will Chantel find out that Trevor is back on the bottle? And who is the new girl trying to move into the house? Find out next time on _The Real Girlfriends of Detroit_!**

Kíli bounced absently on the edge of the couch cushion, leaning towards the television with an elated gaze. The second the credits finished rolling, the screen clicked off, breaking him from his daze.

“Homework, Kíli. Now.”

“Aw, mom,” he whined halfheartedly. “Do I have to? _Tundra Loggers_ is on next!”

“We go through this every week, kiddo.” Dís managed a weary smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. “Homework. Your brother is already done with his.”

Kíli glanced to the kitchen table where his brother sat. Fíli looked up over the edge of his book with a smug look and stuck out his tongue.

“Mom! Fee stuck his tongue out at me!”

“Did not!” the older boy smirked.

“Did too!”

“Boys!” Dís leaned heavily against the back of a kitchen chair. “I can't deal with you right now. You're both too old for this bickering.”

“Sorry, mom,” they chorused.

“I'm going to lay down. Your uncle should be home soon.” Dís sighed and pulled the bathrobe tighter around her thinning frame. “Kíli, do your homework.”

Both boys sat quietly until their mother disappeared down the hallway.

“Mom looks weird without hair,” Kíli whispered after the bedroom door clicked to a close.

“Uncle Thorin says it's because of the chemo.”

“I know that!” The younger boy pouted. “Don't be such a know-it-all!”

“Shut up, idiot!” Fíli snapped, glaring at his brother.

“I'm gonna tell Uncle Thorin you called me an idiot!” Kíli taunted. “You're gonna be in trouble!

* * *

_Thursday October 11, 2018. 8:00 PM  
Ann Arbor, Michigan_

**This week on _The Real Girlfriends of Detroit_ \- Chantel and Abe try to make things work, while the trouble between LaShawnda and Dominique finally comes to a head!**

Kíli sprawled out against the arm of the couch with his feet on the coffee table, his dark eyes fixed on the television screen. 

Their mother rested in an armchair, working halfheartedly on a piece of needlework. It was a skill she had taken up since the illness set in and pieces hung in every room of the house. _There's no place like home_ was proclaimed in the hallway, _Time heals all wounds_ said the kitchen wall, and _Love one another_ called out from over the back of the couch. 

“Why do you watch this reality show crap?” Fíli questioned from the kitchen, his voice muffled by the pen held between his lips. 

“Shh! No talking!” Kíli frowned and waved a hand in his brother's direction. 

Fíli chewed on the end of the pen and rolled his eyes. Tuning out the sounds of the television, he set his attention back on the mound of schoolwork spread out on the table in front of him. The last time their mother had been in the hospital he missed a week of school, but he was almost caught up now. If he worked extra hard he might still be able to get into the Advanced Placement classes after Christmas. 

****No way! You ain't gonna take _my_ man!** **

Fíli sighed and tried to focus on his homework. 

* * *

_Thursday December 13, 2018. 8:00 PM  
Ann Arbor, Michigan_

****Now on _The Real Girlfriends of Detroit_ \- Dominique's got a secret and Sara will do anything to find out what it is. And a night out with Abe might be just what Chantel needs to get over Trevor.** **

Kíli turned the volume on the television to low so the sound didn't bother their mother, who was sleeping in the next room. Fíli sat beside him on the couch, rather than his customary place at the kitchen table, though he still had his nose buried in schoolwork. 

A box of pizza lay open on the coffee table- one more to add to the collection that was growing on the kitchen counter. Uncle Thorin wasn't much of a cook, so it was pizza almost every night for the past week. The kids at school thought that was awesome, but sometimes Kíli wished his mom would feel well enough to cook dinner again. 

“Why doesn't Justice break up with Mike?” Fíli marked the page in his book with a finger and regarded the television screen with confusion. 

“I thought you didn't like reality TV?” Kíli smirked, breaking free of his sad thoughts. 

“I don't,” Fíli shrugged, flushing slightly. “Stop being a jerk.” 

Kíli stretched out his legs and dropped his feet next to his brother's on the couch. “Justice won't break up with Mike, because she loves him, even though LaShawnda's having his baby.” He glanced at Fíli out of the corner of his eye. “Mom's not getting any better.” 

Fíli knocked his foot against his brother's and said nothing. 

* * *

_Thursday January 31, 2019. 8:00 PM  
Ann Arbor, Michigan_

****Dominique has had enough and is ready to leave the house and move in with Abe, but will Sara and Chantel let her go? Find out on tonight's all new episode of _The Real Girlfriends of Detroit!_** **

Thorin sorted through the mail on the table, trying to stop his hands from shaking. Water bill. Cable bill. Hospital bill. A stack of condolence cards he would never answer. Return address labels from the March of Dimes. A pocket calender from some local bank. Junk mail. He tossed the calender into a drawer, the cards unopened into the trash, and left the bills on the counter. 

The refrigerator had real food in it for once - casseroles and pies of every variety – but Thorin couldn't stomach the thought of eating. Not when just that morning they had laid his little sister into the ground. 

His nephews sat shoulder-to-shoulder on the couch, half-watching Kíli's favorite reality show. Both boys looked bruised and gaunt, with eyes that were red and puffy from crying. Thorin bit back his own grief and entered the living room, fitting himself between his nephews and pulling them close. 

* * *

_Thursday March 14, 2019. 8:00 PM  
Ann Arbor, Michigan_

******Tonight on _The Real Girlfriends of Detroit_ \- Dominique is back and there's going to be hell to pay! Is she here to stay, or is it a plot to get back at Sara for sleeping with Abe?** ** **

Thorin watched as Kíli stuffed a handful of french fries into his mouth and stared at the television screen, absently pressing against his brother's shoulder while he chewed. Fíli reached over and stole a fry from the box then leaned back into the couch cushions, not breaking contact with his brother. They were doing surprisingly well, his nephews. Though their mother's death was still a fresh pain, they had grown close and supported each other through the worst of it. 

Propping his feet up on the coffee table, Thorin took a bite from his hamburger and cast a sudden glance upwards as the lights flickered. There was something not quite right- rumors of an unexplainable illness spreading through the biggest cities in the world, the power going off and on with growing frequency, an edge of panic creeping over the population. To make matters worse, Thorin's father had not returned any of his phone calls for the better part of two weeks. Digging around the internet had dredged up a lot of conspiracy theories that made his skin crawl with worry. 

Maybe it would be a good idea to take the boys out of school for the rest of the term. 

* * *

_Thursday August 29, 2019. 8:00 PM  
Ann Arbor, Michigan_

******It's time for _The Real Girlfriends of Detroit_! Tune in to see if Justice and Dominique will ever forgive Sara for-** ** **

Click. 

Darkness. 

“Uncle Thorin? What's going on?” Kíli questioned hesitantly. 

“I don't know, lad,” Thorin replied, though he had a hunch. The plague rumors had been growing and the photos that were showing up online were grisly and damning. 

“I'll get a flashlight!” Kíli felt his way to the kitchen and dug around in the junk drawer until he found two flashlights. The first worked, but the second was missing batteries. Poking around in the drawer, he found a box of batteries along with a small calender with a familiar saying on it. Shoving the calender into the pocket of his hoodie, he grabbed the batteries and went back to sit close beside his brother on the couch. 

“The power isn't coming back on this time, is it?” Fíli asked, his face pale in the eerie beam of the flashlight. 

“I don't know.” Thorin wrapped an arm around each of his nephews. “I think it might be time to leave the city.” 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to show that the boys weren't always so unnaturally codependent... I hope I succeeded... And also the progression of their little broken family over the last year before they left home.
> 
> On a side note- I live near Ann Arbor and it would be a REALLY horrible place to be during a zombie apocalypse.
> 
> Please let me know what you thought of this interlude. I'll see you back here next chapter, when our heroes get to California and meet the last two members of their company (do you know which ones are still missing?).


	18. Counting the Days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow- you guys really seemed to like the last chapter! Thank you so much for all the favorites/follows/kudos/comments. Seriously- you guys are fantastic!!!
> 
> Now it's time to meet the last two "dwarves", learn a LOT about the GOBO virus (the science should be fairly sound), and FINALLY find out what the deal is with Kili and his calender!
> 
> Warning: A bit of violence, nothing too graphic. Also, science talk. You've been warned. ;)

* * *

_Thursday November 7, 2019  
Sacramento, California_

 

It was easier to find gas in the smaller towns, where the population hadn't panicked to the point of hording resources. The closer they got to the coast, the more difficult it became to avoid the big cities and the dangers that seemed to lurk within. Bilbo dreaded the empty metropolises; there were too many variables and too many places for trouble to hide. They stopped three times before finding a parking lot with enough abandoned cars to siphon gas from. Most of Sacramento had been razed, and the burnt husks of buildings creaked and crumbled in the early morning breeze. The Chinatown Mall loomed before them, charred and windowless and haunting. There were a dozen cars in the parking lot with just enough gas between them to fill the tank of the Bronco.

“This place looks like a war zone,” Bilbo said quietly as he stared up at the gutted sky scrapers. “The closer we get to the coast, the worse things appear.”

Thorin sat beside him on the hood of the car and nodded his accord. “We're getting closer to the source. If Sacramento is this bad, I can only imagine what we'll find at ground zero.”

“Do you think there will be anything left of the Valinor Corporation? I mean, what if it's all been destroyed?”

“There will be something left,” Thorin's voice was sure and solid. “The prophecy wouldn't send us there if there was nothing left to find.”

“Not to mention your father's map,” Bilbo pointed out. “We still don't know how he was involved.” They fell silent and Thorin pressed closer to Bilbo's side while the other members of the company stretched their legs.

“What was that?” Kíli asked, grabbing his brother's sleeve with one hand and pointing at the ruined building with the other. “There was something moving in there!”

Dwalin and Thorin we on their feet in seconds, grabbing baseball bats and creeping slowly towards a gap in the side of the building. “Hello!” Thorin called into the darkness. “Is anyone there? Show yourself!”

A shuffling noise sounded from the depths, followed by a flustered voice, “Don't hurt us! We're not armed! We're coming out now!” Two men stumbled out of the building with their hands outstretched to prove they weren't bearing weapons. The first was a middle aged man with a neatly trimmed beard and close cropped red hair. “See, we mean you no harm!” He stroked at an ID badge which hung from a lanyard around his neck. “I'm Gloin and this is my brother Oin.”

Oin blinked as if he were surprised to hear his name, “Yes, good to meet you and all that.” Frizzy gray hair stuck out wildly from his head, giving way to a mustache and long beard, which he wore tucked in to the front of his lab coat. He leaned heavily on a walking stick and regarded Thorin with an absent-minded irritation. “What are you doing here? You shouldn't be here!”

Thorin raised a brow, “We were stopping for a brief rest. What are you doing here?”

“Hiding, of course!” Oin replied exasperatedly, as if speaking to a thick-headed child.

Gloin rolled his eyes in irritation, “We're refugees. We stopped here to try and find some fresh water. That's all.”

“We've got water in the car,” Thorin offered and led the two men back to where the rest of the company waited. Handing them bottles of of water he asked, “Where are you headed?”

“East,” Gloin answered. “We're looking for the closest Protection Camp.” He frowned, deep lines settling across his forehead, “If there's any left.”

“There are,” Dwalin said with a growl. “We were _lucky_ enough to stay at one a few weeks ago.” He rolled his eyes, the sarcasm evident in his voice.

Some of the tension eased in Gloin's shoulders, “They took my family! My wife and son!” He held out his ID badge and turned it over; a picture was tucked in the plastic sleeve of a pretty brunet woman and a young boy.

“That's Gimli!” Kíli exclaimed, grinning wildly at the picture. “I know him!”

“What?” The relief on Gloin's face was apparent, “You've seen him? Where? Are you sure? Is he well?”

“Shorter than me, red hair, loves soccer?” Kíli ticked off the traits with a shrug. “Yeah, I'm sure.”

Gloin turned to him brother with a desperate plea, “We have to go get them!”

“No!” Oin snapped, glaring out at the horizon. “We need to stay here where we're safe.”

“Safe from whom?” Bilbo asked, glancing around nervously.

“From Doctor Bauglir, of course. Doctor Morgoth Bauglir,” Oin shuddered slightly as he spoke the name. “He won't be happy that we left.”

Bilbo frowned, something niggling at the edge of his mind, “Where exactly did you leave?”

“San Francisco,” Gloin responded, staring down at his son's picture. “We worked for a organization called the Valinor Corporation.”

The company startled and exchanged a host of frenzied glances. Bilbo felt a static charge in the air and wrapped his arms around himself, feeling as though another fated puzzle piece had snapped in to place. “And what did you do at the Valinor Corporation? He asked carefully, not wanting to give away their quest, but needing to gauge if the strangers were friends or foe.

“Security,” Gloin muttered with a shrug. “Mainly staring at video monitors all day and occasionally having to go down to the vaults and open the deadlocks. I only took the job because my brother worked as a lead scientist there.”

Thorin stared at Oin with a dawning look of horror, which he tried to rein in, “You worked on the plague.”

“The what?” Oin blinked absently. “Oh, you mean the Gregarious Onset Brochopulmonary Occlude Virus! Yes, yes I did!” His lips curled in to a pleased smile. “Great work of scientific engineering, let me tell you! It took us years to formulate...” He trailed off, lost in his own thoughts.

“Why?” Bilbo stuttered, not entirely sure what he was trying to ask.

“Because Doctor Bauglir needed the perfect bio-weapon,” Oin said, as if stating the obvious. “It started out as a magnificent challenge, but before long we realized that the base of the virus already existed in nature. Rabies is part of the Rhabdoviridal family, you know, which makes it a negative-sense ssRNA virus! A perfect candidate for a a weapon!” He cackled and rubbed his hands together gleefully.

“Wait,” Balin interrupted hesitantly. “The goblins, er, GOBO Virus started as rabies?”

“Of course! It was a superb idea! We took viral cultures from the brains of rabies patients, as well as cerebrospinal fluid samples. Once we isolated the Negri bodies it was simple work to introduce the virus to the RNA strands!” Oin gestured wildly as he spoke, completely unaware that much of what he said made no sense to anyone but himself. “The really brilliant part is how it transmits through corpses! Once the microbial proliferation is underway, the anaerobic metabolism causes gases to form... Including the same carbon dioxide that caused the death- and carries the virus! It's perfect!”

“Perfect? Yes, well, how did you manage to make it so... potent?” Bilbo questioned, trying to find some useful information within all the scientific babble.

“Obviously, we set the virus up for a high chance of mutation by removing the polymerases!” He ran a hand through his hair, making it even wilder than before. “The mutation is so advanced that it made it almost impossible to formulate an effective vaccine.”

“Almost impossible?!” Bilbo leaned forward, latching on to the idea like a beacon of hope in the darkness. “Then you do have a working vaccine?”

“Of course! We're not idiots, you know! We'd never be able to perfect our work if we were susceptible to the virus!” Oin scoffed, seemingly convinced that he was talking to idiots. “We developed a purified cell vaccine that has proven very effective in the long-term.”

“We need that vaccine,” Bilbo said, trying to keep his voice level while his insides were pulsing with excitement. “Is there any more?”

“More? Well, yes,” Oin tilted his head curiously. “Why would you want the vaccine?”

“So we don't catch the plague and die!” Thorin all but shouted, clearing running out of patience with the old scientist.

“Oh, yes, that makes sense. It's a nasty way to die... slow... terrifying...” He nodded, “It was difficult to gather accurate data, because the test subjects were uncooperative and kept getting more and more paranoid as the virus progressed. They wouldn't even keep the monitors attached so we could monitor their vital signs. Kept trying to attack anyone who came near...”

“Stop talking 'bout them like some science project!” Bofur said with an unusual amount of gruffness in his voice. “They were people! People who had thoughts an' feelings an' lives! People who left behind loved ones!” He wiped a hand brusquely across his eyes, “Did ya even stop to think 'bout them or were ya too busy with yer damned science?! What if it were someone ya loved? What if it were your brother, or your nephew, or your bride??” Bofur stepped back and pressed a hand over over his mouth, tears flooding his eyes. Bombur moved to his brother's side and drew him into his arms, whispering quiet words designed to calm the tears.

Oin stared at them with a dawning comprehension, “Oh. I see.” He looked from Gloin to Kíli and back again. “You are trying to save your children. The Valinor Corporation has two vaults. One contains the virus, the other contains the vaccine.”

Thorin took a deep breath to steady himself, “Will we know which is which? How do we get into the vault? How is the vaccine administered?”

“Those are a lot of questions. And good ones at that.” Oin fiddled with his walking stick, picking absently at a bit of peeling varnish. “The vaccine is clearly labeled, but you cannot get into the vaults without the proper authorization codes.”

“Will you help us?” Thorin implored, his voice edged with desperation.

“We cannot go back. Doctor Bauglir will have noticed our absence by now and he will not be pleased.” Oin shrugged, “I can tell you how to administer the vaccine, but apart from that you will be on your own.”

“No we won't,” Bilbo started, then paused as he worked up the nerve to continue. “I do believe you two will be coming with us.”

Gloin frowned, “Oin already told you what he knows, we're not going back to that place. Why would we risk ourselves to help you?”

“Because we know where your son is,” Bilbo said softly, laying his metaphorical cards out on the table. “We know exactly where to find him.”

“You'd hold my son's whereabouts over me?” Gloin growled, his voice rising in anger.

“Oh, come off it already,” Bilbo snorted tiredly. “I don't imagine your son has been vaccinated yet. You need the vaccine as much as we do.”

Gloin drew back, startled, “My boy...” The widening of his eyes told Bilbo that his gamble has paid off. “We'll help you.”

“I rather thought so,” Bilbo said, allowing himself a small amount of smugness.

“We've got to figure out some sort of a pan,” Thorin said slowly. “I'd like to know what to expect once we get to the coast.”

“Expect to encounter a very angry Doctor Bauglir,” Oin said with a deep frown. “Especially once he realizes we are with you.”

“No one who had been vaccinated was supposed to leave the compound,” Gloin explained. “He didn't want anyone else to know about the vaccine.”

“Is he really so dangerous?” Balin asked, stroking his beard sagely. “After all, he's just one man.”

“He is more than a man, though I cannot rightly explain it,” Oin said, looking vaguely disturbed. “Logically, he is only a man fueled by an intense passion, but... Well, he seems to have a darker force driving him. There is some sinister madness to his obsession that I do not understand.” His eyes pulled in to sharp focus for a moment, “Do not underestimate Morgoth Bauglir, or it will be your last mistake.”

An unsettling silence followed the ominous warning, but the company knew they had no choice but to continue on with their quest.

“We're supposed to meet Ori and the others next week,” Kíli said softly, staring down at the creased pages of his calender and counting the days. “Whatever happens is gonna happen then.”

Fíli slung an arms around his brother's shoulders, “We already know what's going to happen.” His lips curved into a sure smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. “We're going to save the world.”

Kíli grinned up at his brother, his face open and trusting, “Then we can find a place to live and stop running, right, Fee? Then we can find a home?”

Bilbo saw the way Fíli's arm tightened around his brother, and the way Thorin bit back a quiet sob. They didn't know what waited at the end of their journey, but no one had the heart to tell that to Kíli. They needed the youngsters hope and optimism to keep them strong. If for no other reason, they were trying to save the world for the boys to have a future. 

“Yeah,” Fíli said softly, a fond smile tugging at his lips. “Then we'll find a home. I promise.”

Kíli opened his mouth to reply, but the words failed as his eyes widened suddenly. “Uncle Thorin?” The calender slipped from his grasp and landed on the pavement beside the car. “Uncle Thorin?!” Everyone turned to follow Kíli's gaze, and to their horror found themselves being set upon by goblins.

“If we get in the car can we make it past them?” Bombur asked hopefully.

“Not likely,” Thorin replied grimly. “We'd have to run them over and too many appear to be armed. They'd blow out the tires.”

Sure enough, a half dozen of the goblins carried makeshift weapons- boards run through with nails, bent pipes, and broken bottles. Several shambled forward with damaged limbs that drug behind them, catching on bits of debris and leaving a bloody trail on the pavement. The creatures wheezes and moaned, their breathes rattling loudly in the chests. 

“Boys! Get in the car! Now!” Thorin opened the back of the Bronco and began pulling weapons out, handing them off to the other adults. He shoved his nephews into the car, ignoring their protests. “Lock the doors and don't open them for anything!” He slammed the door shut and spared them one long look at he waited for the lock to set. The men fanned out around the car, putting themselves between the boys and danger. 

The first goblin got too close and Bofur caved it's chest in with his mattock, the sick crunch of bone echoing over the dissonance. The fall of the first goblin seemed to spur the others into action, they staggered forward swinging violently with curved fingers and improvised weapons. Bilbo found himself unprepared for the onslaught and lost his grip on the baseball bat. He reached for the knife in his coat pocket, but took a hard blow to the side before reaching it. Grabbing up the bat from the concrete he managed to retaliate, clubbing at the creature until it stopped moving. Beside him Thorin fought two goblins, keeping them at bay with steady jabs from the tire iron. He spun quickly and took out one foe with a blow to the head, before turning his attention fully to the other. At the front of the car Oin and Gloin fought back-to-back, the scientist swinging wildly with his walking stick, while his brother wielded a baseball bat with deadly accuracy. Several bloodied corpses already lay at their feet, faces bashed beyond recognition. Bombur used his bat to shove goblins towards Bifur, who dealt sharps blows with a nine-iron, snapping legs and spines with uncanny ease. Balin leaned heavily against the side of the car, blood dripping from a wound on his thigh. Dwalin moved in to protect his brother, keeping the monsters at bay with a club and crushing the skulls in of any that got within arms reach. 

The goblins fought viciously, with teeth and nails and rage. They were too far gone to care about their injuries, and fought on even after sustaining broken limbs and extensive head trauma. The air was filled with cries and moans and grunts, the pavement dark with blood. Inside the car Fíli tried to keep Kíli's eyes covered, but soon gave up. Both boys peered out the windows, eyes wide and frantic with fear. One of the goblins lurched past Bombur and crashed through the passenger window of the Bronco, trying to claw its way towards the boys. Hell bent on protecting his brother, Fíli pushed himself across the back of the seat and lit in to creature with a screwdriver. The goblin screamed and gurgled as its throat was pierced, but it fought on, clawing a deep gouge into Fíli's arm before exsanguinating. Kíli screamed and pulled his brother back, pressing a hand over the wound and trying to still Fíli's frightened trembling. Thorin turned frantically to check on his nephews and would have taken a pipe to the head had Bilbo not intercepted it and taken the goblin down.

The last few goblins fell with the sharp snap of bones and the squelching sound of flesh giving way. Oin leaned heavily on his walking stick, one hand probing his leg to assess the damage. The gash on Balin's thigh bled heavily, deep rivulets of red bubbling from between his fingers as he applied pressure to the wound. Bilbo tugged up the edge of his shirt and regarded the bruise already blossoming purple on his side. The pain was intense, but he gladly noted that no ribs appeared to be broken. The side of Bombur's face was matted with blood, but he was coherent and seemed no worse for wear. After some pleading and pounding to get his nephews attention, Thorin pulled open the door as soon as Kíli undid the lock.

“Fíli? Are you all right?” Thorin tugged the older boy to tailgate where his arm could be examined. “Fíli? Speak to me, lad.”

“I killed it,” Fíli's voice was small and sick with defeat. He looked up at his uncle with eyes that were suddenly heavy and aged. “I've never killed anything before.”

“I know, lad.” Thorin pulled his nephew into his arms, cradling him like a small child. “You were in danger and reacted. I'm proud of you.”

“But I killed it,” Fíli repeated, a shudder quivering up his body. He pulled away from his uncle, curling in to himself and whimpering softly. 

Kíli reached towards his brother, but Fíli jerked back unthinking. “Fee?” The agony in the younger boys voice was apparent, “It's gonna be okay, Fee. Right?”

Fíli looked at his brother with half-seeing eyes, “I don't know.” Kíli froze, his lip quivering as for the first time his brother didn't reassure him.

Jumping down from the car, Kíli searched frantically until he located his calender on the pavement. The edges of the pages were red and damp, but he wiped the blood away with his sleeve and stared at the cover, “This isn't supposed to happen.” He rushed back to the tailgate, pushing himself into his brother's face, “You need to snap out of it! This isn't supposed to happen!” Fíli became slightly more focused and blinked up at his brother, but said nothing. Kíli opened the calender and pointed to the first page; the phrase _Time heals all wounds..._ was emblazoned in flowing script across an image of a clock.

“Mom used to say that,” Fíli said softly, forgetting his own torment as he regarded his little brother. “She had a needlepoint sampler that hung in the kitchen...”

“She said that no matter what else happened, that time would always go on and things would always get better,” Kíli's voice sounded broken and raw. 

Fíli looked at his uncle, who shrugged helplessly, then back at Kíli. “I don't understand...” He looked hopelessly lost and unaccustomed to not knowing how to help his brother.

Bilbo had seen Kíli upset before, but nothing had prepared him for the way the boy's dark eyes flashed as he paced in wild desperation, “When we were little, mom told me to cross the days off on the calender whenever something bad was happening. She said that way I'd be able to see time passing and how it made stuff better.” He let out a horrible, wrenching cry, “I've been crossing them off for months now, but nothing's happening! It's not getting better!” With a keening sob he threw the calender at the ground, where it fluttered open.

Fíli's eyes widened with sudden understanding, “Oh, Kíli.” He reached down and picked up the calender, flipping the pages slowly as he took in his brother's work. Each past day was covered by a dark jagged X, some of the days were scribbled with so much black that the date was almost illegible. “You've kept track of everything. Mom dying. Grandpa disappearing. The day we left home.” He turned a few more pages, “Meeting Bilbo. The quarantines. Mirkwood. You've kept track of every day, every fight, _everything_.”

Kíli sunk to the ground, sobbing desperately in to his hands. “I don't know what else to do!” His body shook with deep, wracking sobs.

Fíli was at his side instantly, his own wounds and fears forgotten in the face of his brother's tears. “I'm here. We'll be okay. I promise.” He drug Kíli into his arms, stroking the damp hair back from his forehead.

“You can't promise that, Fee,” Kíli's voice shattered and he lost himself to brokenly sobbing his brother's name. “Fee...”

“I know,” Fíli wept, clutching his brother tightly. 

They stayed clung together on the blood-stained pavement until Thorin urged them carefully into the car. With two extra passengers in Bronco it was a tight fit, so Bilbo and Bofur joined Thorin and his nephews in the back. As Dwalin drove them westward, the boys curled so tightly together in the corner that it was impossible to tell when one boy ended and the other began. Kíli was inconsolable and cried himself hoarse before passing out in his brother's arms. Fíli fought sleep for a long time, brushing Kíli's wild hair back from his face and watching him rest. Eventually his eyes drooped, his head nodded, and the hum of the road lulled him to sleep.

* * *

 

_Friday November 8, 2019  
Sacramento, California_

 

Dwalin only drove long enough to find a safe place, then parked the Bronco and waited for morning. The sun crested over the wreckage of Sacramento, glinting off shattered glass and giving an eerie haze to the settling dust. Bilbo rubbed the sleep from his eyes and peered through the growing dawn at his companions. Outside of the car Dwalin was redressing the wound in his brother's thigh, stitching the strips of flesh back together as Balin let out a string of undignified curses. A small stream ran through a cement culvert under the road and Bofur helped the others wash off the blood and gore as best as they could, while Bombur passed around granola bars and bottled water. 

The boys were still asleep, Kíli muttering wordlessly into his brother's shirt. Bilbo sighed and heard the sound echoed from beside him, “Good morning, Thorin.”

“I don't see what's so good about it,” Thorin replied gruffly.

“It was more a figure of speech,” Bilbo said with a shrug. “But we're all still alive and I'm quite certain that's a good thing.”

“Is it?” Thorin asked softly. “Look at them. They're broken. My boys...”

Bilbo looked hard at the boys; even in sleep they clung to each other, their eyes red and puffy, though their breathing was deep and steady. He turned his attention to Thorin, who watched his nephews with a despondent gaze. “I don't think they're broken, Thorin. Bruised and bent, yes... but never broken.”

“How can you say that? You saw them yesterday! Fíli killed something, for gods sake! And Kíli...” His words broke off with a quiet sob.

“Kíli's been carrying that grief alone. It's about time that he let it out,” Bilbo reached over and placed a hand on top of Thorin's, lacing their fingers together and squeezing gently. “And Fíli takes after you- he's stronger than you realize. He hurts right now, but he'll find a way to come to grips with it and move on.” He smiled slightly, glancing back to where the boys slept, “They're growing up faster than is fair, but they're growing strong and straight and true. I do believe they'll be all right in the end.”

“Do you think we can do this?” Thorin's voice was barely a whisper. “Do you think we can win?”

Across the car Kíli shifted in his brother's embrace and slowly opened his eyes. He squinted into the bright sunlight and carefully nudged Fíli awake with a soft whisper. For the first time since before Bilbo had known the boys, Kíli had not awakened to nightmares. 

Turning to Thorin he smiled, “I know we can.”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... What did you think of Oin and Gloin? They're my least favorites dwarves... That's not to say I don't love them, because I do! I just REALLY REALLY love all the others. ;)
> 
> And how about the boys? Do you think they'll be okay? I feel bad for putting them through so much...
> 
> Next up is the last part of the 'Ri brothers side-quest. What happens when the get to Red Bluff? Do they find Mahal? Can they get him to help? Stay tuned!


	19. Interlude: 'Ri Side-Quest, Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the last part of the 'Ri brothers side-quest. They've made it to Red Bluff, where Ori is convinced Mahal the Maker lives.

* * *

_Wednesday November 6, 2019  
Red Bluff, California_

 

Ori never told his brothers what went on inside Mahal's Mansion. It wasn't that he didn't want to tell them, but more that he no longer had the words. 

Words had always been Ori's gift. He was good with them, understood them. Words had meanings and rules. That's what made him such a good research assistant- his ability to suss out the true meanings in old texts and archaic translations. His notebooks were filled with meticulous lines and neat, even writing. Even when the world screeched to a halt, Ori went right on keeping notes- turning from academic research to simply documenting the failing world. What he didn't write down he told to his brothers -thoughts and dreams and fears- things that would keep him from sleep if he didn't voice them. The words would spill out of his fingers and off of his tongue. Ori didn't know how to exist without words.

Meeting Mahal took the words right out of him. Before he even had a chance to open his mouth, the god had looked into his soul and saw what he was after and offered aid with one condition:

**“You must become my Voice.”**

Ori was young and scared, but he was also loyal and wanted to be brave. The world was dying around them and he would offer whatever he could. He would gladly give his life for the quest, surely it would not be much more difficult to give his words.

He wasn't thinking of himself, but of his brothers.  
Of Nori at the wheel of the Charger, with a look of wild determination on his face.  
Of Dori laying on the pavement in a pool of his own blood. 

There was a choice, but Ori couldn't fathom saying no.

“Yes.”

Inside his head a thousand lives were lived all at once; crying and laughing and dancing and fucking and dying.  
There were fights and bombs and plagues.  
There were weddings and birthdays and alliances.  
Day and night.  
Love and hate.  
War and creation. 

The making and unmaking of the world. The potential to reforge.

Every breath.  
Every heartbeat.  
Every possible outcome.

The scribe of Ori's mind wrote down all these things, until the pages in his head were so heavy with black ink that he had to begin again with white.

A lifetime passed. Or a day. Or a moment. But when Ori blinked up into the face of Mahal, he _knew_.

He knew that in the vast library of his mind was every necessary tool for saving the world.  
He knew the exact course that would bring them success.  
He knew how to keep them all alive.  
He knew he could never utter a word of it.

The knowledge lay under lock and key, flowing freely through his thoughts only to fade at his lips unless Mahal willed it.

That was the price of Mahal's aid. 

To be Ori on the outside- young and awkward and scared.  
To be Ori in the knit-wear.  
Ori with the overprotective brothers.  
Ori who was no good in a fight.  
To smile and laugh and go on as if nothing had changed.  
To be Ori on the outside, while inside he burned with the knowledge of the gods.

 **“I am Mahal's Voice,”** Ori whispered in a voice that wasn't quite his own. He turned slowly and headed back to where his brothers waited. There was so much he wanted to tell them, but he no longer had the words.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the chapter that changed everything. Before I started writing the interludes I had gotten near the end of the story and realized I had no idea how to handle Mahal. How do you write a god? Or more so, how do you write a god without having him take over the story due to power and knowledge and everything. When the interludes were suggested, this was the first thing I wrote. I woke up in the middle of the night and wrote the entire thing in one sitting, by the light of my mobile. This was the moment I decided how to handle Mahal and to saddle Ori with this responsibility. Everything after this chapter was rewritten to fit. I have a feeling some of you aren't going to like the way Mahal acts... I guess we'll find out next chapter.
> 
> Next chapter we'll be starting the last arch of the story. The members of Mahal's Pride will all be together and they'll be preparing for the final battle. I hope to see you there.


	20. Mahal's Pride

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah! Thank you all SO much for your comments! You guys are amazing! I hope you love this chapter...
> 
> This is where everyone in the company FINALLY comes together. An old acquaintance shows up with news on Thrain, we learn more about the GOBO Virus, and see a little bit of Ori's job as Mahal's Voice. There's a tiny Bagginshield scene in the last paragraph- feel free to skip it if you totally hate that 'ship. :)

* * *

_Saturday November 9, 2019  
San Francisco, California_  

The entered San Francisco on a storm cloud, waves crashing against the shore in time to the rolling booms of thunder that split the silence. The air was warm and dry, which made the dark looming clouds seem even more foreboding. Dwalin skirted the car around the city proper and took instead the hilly roads which crawled up and down the coastline like great scars caved into the flesh of the world. Thorin spent the trip explaining to Oin and Gloin about the map, the prophecy, and Mahal's Pride. There had been some differing opinions on whether or not to trust the newest members of their group with the quest, but in the end logic won out. Oin and Gloin knew better than anyone else what evils lurked within the walls of the Valinor Corporation and their insights could prove valuable.

Oin took to the prophecy like the scientist he was- with a vague curiosity and a calm dismissal. Gloin surprised them all with his easy acceptance, though he explained it simply enough, “I've seen too many unnatural things to doubt a higher power.” He looked fondly at the photo tucked in his ID badge, “Plus, you found my son, who was a needle lost in a haystack for me. I believe fate brought us together and if I believe in fate, than I see no reason not to accept your prophecy.”

The Valinor Corporation lorded over a small industrial park nestled in a valley overlooking the bay. The structure itself looked nondescript- deep red bricks formed the walls of the single story building, with glass block windows that let in the light, but obstructed the view. The only thing that set it apart from the other office buildings was the thick barbed-wire fence that had obviously been electrified in the days before the power went out.

Dwalin parked the Bronco on a hilly rise above the Valinor Corporation and killed the engine. A scraggly line of trees blocked them from view and the height gave them an easily defensible location and a clear view of anything that might attempt to launch an attack. “Holy shit,” Dwalin muttered under his breath. “We actually made it.”

Thorin clasped a hand on his friend's arm with a tight smile, “That we did.”

“Now what?” Dwalin asked, rubbing a hand along his jaw line. “We just sit around and hope Ori and the lads show up?”

“Yes,” Thorin replied with a slight nod. “If they're still alive we're supposed to meet this week.” He stared off into the city, as if he could ascertain the well-being of the others. “For now we sit tight and wait.”

* * *

_Monday November 11, 2019  
San Francisco, California_

They spread out over the car; sitting on top of the hood, leaning against the bumpers, and sprawling across the seats. The strange weather added to their sense of unease, but they combated it by passing around granola bars and sharing stories about their lives before the plague. Fíli sat on the hood of the Bronco, his brother nestled between his knees. He rested his chin on the top of Kíli's head and told the others about the younger boy's love of reality television. Kíli tried to interrupt, glaring up at his brother with mock indignation, but he was mostly ignored.

Bilbo watched the boys fondly, marveling over how resilient they truly were. Where they were impossibly close before the drama in Sacramento, they had become all but fused together now. Part of them always touched; shoulder pressed to shoulder, or ankles entwined, they seemed to drawn strength from each others presence. Dark circles still hung heavily under Kíli's eyes, but some of the sparkle had returned. Fíli's voice was light and teasing, but the tense set of his jaw never truly went away. Bilbo knew he had been right- that the boys were strong and would survive, but part of him mourned for the carefree children that had first knocked on his door.

For two days they sat on the hill overlooking the Valinor Corporation and for two days nothing moved below them. The sky still churned and swirled with dark, angry clouds, but the dam never broke and the rain didn't fall. The tension in the air set everyone on edge; tempers were impossibly short and weapons were never far out of hand. Bilbo took to keeping a bat with him at all times, resting it across his knees as he sat against the side of the Bronco. The combination of the odd weather and the stress made him feel hyper-aware and when a figure appeared beside him he swung without thinking.

“You've become quite the warrior, Bilbo Baggins,” Stormcrow said, blocking the bat with his walking stick.

Bilbo stared at the old man with a mix of irritation and curiosity. “However did you get here, graybeard? We haven't seen you since Mirkwood.”

“Oh, I have my ways,” Stormcrow answered mysteriously. “Have the others arrived yet?”

“The others?” Bilbo startled, racking his brain for a moment. “How do you know there are others? I'm quite certain we never told you...”

“My dear boy, I know far more than you realize.” His gray bathrobe was tattered along the hemline and speckled with what could only be blood. “There are supposed to be thirteen members of this company- fourteen counting you. Therefor, you much be waiting for the others.”

Bilbo frowned, doing the math quickly in his head, “Fourteen. Yes. That's quite right.” He pressed his palms together, exhaling deeply. “I'm not even going to ask how you know that, because I'm certain you wouldn't give me a straight answer.”

Thorin joined them and leaned against the car beside Bilbo with a low growl. “Come to offer us another vague prophecy?” He unfolded his map, smoothing out the ragged paper and staring at his father's note as if he expected it to suddenly make sense.

“I knew Thrain,” Stormcrow's voice was soft and he regarded Thorin solemnly. “You could say we worked together before...” He gestured out at the destroyed city with a shrug.

“My father?” Thorin's eyes widened and his fingers clenched tightly at the map. “I assumed he died along with the rest of the world... Do you know what happened to him?”

“Yes, though I am not sure it is a story you will want to hear.” The old man pulled a leaf out of his beard and crumbled it in his hand, watching the pieces swirl away in the breeze.

Thorin motioned for them to move out of earshot of the rest of the company, “I may not want to hear it, but I think I need to. He was my father, I owe it to him to find out the truth.”

Bilbo trailed after them, feeling slightly out of place, but too curious to give up the opportunity to witness the conversation. Neither Thorin nor Stormcrow asked him to leave, so he settled down beside them on a log at the edge of the bluff.

“Your father had the grave misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time,” Stormcrow began, considering his words carefully. “I met him inside the Valinor Corporation, when I was investigating Morgoth Bauglir and the rumors that he was creating a biological weapon.”

Thorin leaned forward and flexed his hands absently, as if he wasn't sure what to do with himself. “What was he doing there? He went to California for business, but never returned home...”

“I am not entirely sure how Morgoth lured Thrain in, but lured he was,” Stormcrow said with a deep frown. “Thorin, there is no easy way to say this, so I will just come out with it- your father was among the first people Morgoth infected with the GOBO Virus.”

Thorin fell forward as if the air had been knocked out of his lungs, a broken sob escaping from his lips. Bilbo put an arm around him and pulled him close, but could think of no words of comfort to offer. “After all this time I knew he was dead,” Thorin whispered. “But knowing it in your heart and hearing the truth of it are two different things entirely.”

Stormcrow nodded slowly, his eyes heavy with shared grief, “Your father was a good man and did not deserve the end he came to.”

“That's why he sent the map then,” Bilbo stated in a small voice. “He probably felt the virus taking over and was trying to warn you. He wanted someone to know where to look if the worst came to pass.”

Thorin looked up at his friend with damp eyes, “I've seen what the plague does to people. The paranoia. The pain. The anger. To think of my father going through that makes my heart sick.”

“To his credit, Thrain did not go without a fight,” Stormcrow said gently. “He knew what he was turning into and gave me that map to send to you. He also told me everything he knew about the virus, little though it was.” He folded his hands in his lap and looked down at them solemnly. “It is because of Thrain that we know the first victims were injected with the GOBO Virus and then released back into the world. Morgoth specifically chose people who were traveling- businessmen, soldiers, people who would carry the plague to the farthest reaches of the globe, where it would not be realized until they died.”

“But my father never came home,” Thorin pointed out. “Why did the others travel while he did not?”

“Because your father was smart,” Stormcrow smiled gently. “The first victims did not know what they had been injected with, what they carried. They believed an antidote would be waiting upon their arrival and only Thrain doubted its existence. While the others obeyed in silent fear, Thrain voiced his thoughts and fought back... Which is why I found him locked in a basement cell, half-mad and failing fast.”

“Was he alone?” Thorin asked with hesitation, as if he were fearful of the answer he might receive. “In the end, was my father all alone?”

Stormcrow met his eyes with sincerity, “I was outside of his cell when Thrain finally fell, though I do not believe he recognized me in the end.”

“It is enough that you were there,” Thorin managed a watery smile, leaning heavily against Bilbo's side. “I thank you for that.”

The three men sat in silence for a long while before a commotion from the rest of the company caught their attention. Over the soft clamor of thunder another low rumbling noise could be heard, growing gradually louder. They gathered around the car, preparing for trouble, when suddenly a small car rolled into sight at the bottom of the hill. “That's the Charger! It's Ori!” Fíli shrieked and jumped up, unseating his brother in the process. “They made it!”

It didn't take much to flag the Charger down and when it was finally parked they greeted the final members of their party with enthusiasm. Ori climbed out of the car first, looking far more confident and resolved then the shy boy who left Rivendell. His clothes were dirty and tattered, one glove missing and the left arm of his cardigan shredded, with what appeared to be bite marks on the exposed flesh beneath. A dark purple bruise circled his eye, but he smiled brightly upon seeing his friends. “You're here!”

Nori slid out of the drivers seat and leaned against the side of the car, looking a little too casual, as if he were trying not to appear pleased to see the others. His mohawk was slightly deflated, with a good inch of dark roots covering his entire head where the red dye had grown out. A dark smear of bruises coated his nose, which bent at a slightly odd angle and there was a swollen gash across his lower lip, where a piercing used to be. “Looks like you fuckers made some friends.”

“Watch your language, Nori!” Dori pulled himself out of the back seat, resting heavily against the door frame as he steadied himself. He looked worse off than his brothers, his impeccably groomed white hair was mussed and his mulberry suit jacket was stained with something darker red. Limping towards the company he managed a tired smile that was thick with relief, “I have never been so glad to see anyone in all my life as I am to see you all!”

“We were worried,” Dwalin told Ori in a soft voice. “I ain't the one who wanted to send you off on your own, but I'm damned glad you're all in one piece.”

Ori shrugged with a slight blush, “Mostly in one piece. It was touch and go for a bit there...” He trailed off, his eyes heavy. “We almost lost Dori in Wyoming.”

“But you didn't,” Dori laid a hand on his youngest brother's shoulder and squeezed gently. “I'm tougher then I look. And I was lucky to have you two to take care of me.” He turned to look at the rest of the company, “We made good time and had hardly any trouble at all until then, but we had to start taking some back roads and ran in to a few goblin colonies. There were a few times we had to fight our way out.”

Nori lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply, “After that it was a solid wall of those goblin bastards until we hit California.” He blew a smoke ring and watched it float into the distance before smirking at his brother. “We bashed a ton of heads in.”

“We're glad you made it here,” Thorin said fondly. “Did you find anything of interest in Red Bluff?”

“Well, actually...” Ori paused and shifted his weight, glancing at each of his brothers in turn.

A tall, heavily muscled man with a long dark beard and hair stepped out of the car. He was impossibly tall and wore deep blue coveralls and a leather smithing apron, which somehow managed to appear regal and command authority. Something about the man made it almost difficult to look at him, as though they were viewing something that was not meant for human eyes. He walked slowly forward, coming to a stop beside Ori and regarding the others levelly.

 **“I am Mahal,”** Ori said with a voice that was not quite his own.

A stunned silence filled the camp as no one knew what to make of Ori or the newcomer. Balin's mouth fell open and a look of genuine fear crossed his face. Ever one for manners, Bilbo stepped forward and cleared his throat, “Right then. Time for introductions. This is Thorin Oakenshield, our leader. These are Dwalin and Balin... confound it! These introductions are getting quite ridiculous! I feel like a school teacher trying to round up stray children on a class trip! Dwalin. Balin. Oin. Gloin. Bifur. Bofur. Bombur. Ori. Dori. Nori. Fíli. Kíli. Thorin.” He pointed to each member of the company as he ticked off their names. “I am Bilbo Baggins and apparently, we are Mahal's Pride.” He nodded brusquely, then looked at the ground, wondering if he had overstepped his bounds.

 **“I am pleased to meet each of you,”** Ori's eyes were glazed and he Spoke carefully, as if his voice were unfamiliar to him.

“Can't he speak for himself, lad?” Dwalin asked, regarding Ori with a concerned look.

“I'm Mahal's Voice,” Ori blinked and swallowed thickly, coming back to himself. “He speaks through me.”

Dwalin growled, “When did that happen? Are you okay?”

“It's fine. It is!” Ori smiled reassuringly. “I'm still me, except for when he has something to say. I agreed to it in exchange for his help. He gave me so much knowledge...”

Dwalin frowned, but said nothing more. The other members of the company looked uncomfortable with the idea, but there was nothing that could be done.

Ori's eyes unfocused slightly, **“I see that you have met Tharkûn as well.”** Mahal looked to Stormcrow with a warm smile as Ori Spoke, **“It is good to see you, my friend.”**

“You two know each other?” Thorin raised a brow, looking displeased.

“That we do, my boy,” Stormcrow nodded absently. “Though, I fear that must be a story to be told another day.”

Bilbo frowned, “Presuming there is another day. After all, we are preparing to...” He trailed off, not precisely sure what he wanted to say.

Stormcrow ignored the comment and clasped Mahal's hand with a fond smile, “It has been much too long. I'll admit to being a little surprised they managed to find you.”

 **“It was all the little ones doing,”** Mahal nodded at Ori, who appeared to be trying to turn invisible, even though he was Speaking. **“For a mortal in this age, he knew a astonishing amount and also claimed that there was a prophecy that related to me.”** Mahal regarded Stormcrow with a cool gaze. **“You would not know anything about a prophecy such as that that, would you?”**

“I may have had a little something to do with that,” Stormcrow said, having a good grace to look bashful. “Someone had to do something. If you were left to your devices, we would be spectators watching to see if there was anything left to rebuild once Morgoth is done.”

 **“You know very well that I am bound by our sacred ways and cannot interfere until the final battle is over.”** Mahal sighed deeply and Ori did the same. **“I cannot face Morgoth myself, nor do I wish for anyone to die in my name. If they wish to fight, so be it, but I cannot offer aid. Those who survive this battle must do so on their own.”** He looked stoically at Stormcrow. **“I am not yet convinced that there is anything here worth saving. It might be best if we leave this land to die.”**

“Er, excuse me?” Bilbo interrupted, looking pointedly at the two men. “Yes, well, let me see if I've got this straight. If no one stops this Doctor Morgoth Bauglir then the world is going to end?” At Stormcrow's nod he pressed on. “And even though you're a god-spirit-thing, you can't fight him yourself?” Nod. “And even if you could, you're not sure you want to save us in the first place?” Another nod. “Which pretty much leaves us right back where we started. With us having to save the world.” Both Stormcrow and Mahal looked uncomfortable at that truth.

Thorin's lips twitched with the ghost of a smile, “I think you're right. But we don't need prophets or gods... Not when we have something worth fighting for.”

 **“And what is it that you are fighting for?”** Mahal asked through Ori. **“What is there in this world that is worth saving.”**

Thorin reached out and put one arm around Bilbo's shoulders and used the other to pull his nephews to his side. “Family. Friends. Love. They're worth far more than all the wealth and power and fame combined!” He stared straight at Mahal and in that moment Bilbo thought he looked every bit as majestic as the god himself. “We're fighting so our children have a world to grow up in! We're fighting for their future!”

 **“And do you think that you can win against Morgoth?”** Mahal raised a thick brow as Ori voiced the question.

“We have to win,” Bilbo declared and sneaked a sideways glance at the boys. “We don't have a choice.” Behind him, the rest of the company murmured their agreement.

 **“Perhaps there is hope for this world yet.”** Mahal nodded sagely to himself. **“While I cannot help you defeat Morgoth, I can promise that if you prevail together we will forge the world anew.”**

“Is there truly no help you can offer us?” Bilbo questioned a small bud of hope stirring in his chest. “Surely you have some sort of god magic.”

 **“There is no magic left. At least not magic like you are likely thinking of. It has not existed in ages.”** Mahal's lip twitched slightly and Ori mirrored the movement. **“As I told your friends when they first found me, I am not what you call a god. I am one of the beings who chose to come here and forge this world into existence. In ages past I could call the very mountains in to being. But that was a very long time ago...”**

“Is Morgoth mortal, or is he more like you?” Bilbo asked with a sudden dreadful inspiration. He felt a sharp intake of breath that alerted him to the fact that Thorin had not considered that line of thought. “You must know something that can help us.”

 **“Morgoth is like me, but he can be destroyed,”** Mahal looked at each member of the company in turn, his eyes lingering curiously on Bilbo. **“This will be your Dagor Dagorath, your Battle of Battles, but it appears that you already have every tool you need to defeat him.”**

“Every tool we need?” Thorin looked around in confusion. “I don't understand. What do we have? You didn't tell us anything!”

The guilt weighed on Bilbo as he reached a hand into his jacket pocket and fingered the small knife tucked inside. He hadn't meant to keep the knife a secret, but it somehow seemed too late to mention it now. He was too afraid of Thorin sending him away for having kept the discovery concealed. Bilbo looked up to see Mahal watching him and struggled to meet the dark eyes that seemingly stared into his soul. It felt like his insides were being twisted into knots and his lips trembled in fear. “What would you have me do?”

 **“Take _heart_ , little one, for you have something Morgoth will never have.”** Ori put heavy emphasis on the second word, his eyes clearing for a split second before he continued Speaking. **“You know love and have faith in your friends. Morgoth lusts for nothing but power. He fears love.”**

“So that's it?” Thorin scoffed, clearly torn between fear and anger. “There is nothing else you can offer us?”

 **“Leave your children and wounded here. Inside Valinor is no place for them,”** Ori Spoke softly, as Mahal's eyes lost some of their stony edge. ****

Stormcrow leaned heavily on his staff and stepped forward, “Pride comes before the fall.” With no other explanation he turned and walked towards the edge of the bluff, staring intently down at the building below. Mahal left to join him and Ori's eyes unclouded as he came back to himself.

“Well, that was fucking helpful,” Nori scoffed with a roll of his eyes. “I've had it with those bastards talking in riddles!” 

“Pride comes before the fall is a Bible verse,” Balin pointed out, twirling his beard around a finger absently. “It basically means if you're too confident that you will suffer some sort of setback.” 

“But we're not exactly overconfident here,” Dori pointed out. “Maybe he's talking about Morgoth's pride?” 

“Maybe. Or maybe it means the Mahal's Pride comes before the fall of Morgoth,” Gloin suggested with an absent shrug. “I think the old gray-beard is the only one who knows for sure.” 

“Don't really matter though, does it, lads?” Bofur tugged his cap further over his ears with a small grin. “We've still gotta go in there an' face Morgoth. We need that vaccine.” 

Dwalin frowned, “Can you tell us anything else, Ori? You said Mahal gave you all sorts of knowledge.” 

Ori stared at his feet and tugged fretfully at the yarn of his remaining glove. “He did.” 

“Then don't you know something that can help?” 

“I do.” Ori wrapped his arms tightly around himself. 

“Well, what is it?” Dwalin leaned forward eagerly. 

“I can't say.” Ori sighed despondently. “That's the trick of it all. I know everything that might happen but I can't voice a single word of it!” 

“What?” Dwalin growled, pulling his fingers into a tight fist. “What help is that?” 

“It's...” Ori trailed off for a moment, clearly trying to find words he could still say. “It's more help than you realize. Mahal was right when he said that you have every _weapon_ you need.” He looked directly at Bilbo, flickering his eyes over the jacket pocket. 

“Mahal said we had every _tool_ we needed, not weapon.” Balin pointed out. 

“I shouldn't have been able to say that,” Ori muttered under his breath, looking quietly pleased with himself. “Who said anything about a weapon?” 

“Uh, ya just did, lad.” Bofur rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. 

“Hmm.” Ori's lips quirked slightly. “He also said to take heart.” 

“Actually, he emphasized the word heart. It could be important,” Bilbo pointed out, not eager to linger on the idea of a weapon. Ori nodded eagerly. 

“Mahal called this our Dagor Dagorath. I can tell you some of that story, though it's not very helpful.” Ori hesitated, fretting his lip between his teeth. “It's often simply called The End, though it actually does mean Battle of Battles in some long-forgotten language. The lore says that the Door of Night will be breached and the sun and moon destroyed as true evil reenters our world. The forces of good will be called together to combat the evil.” 

“Well, I suppose Morgoth is the evil,” Balin surmised. “The sun and moon are still in the sky, so I think it's a fair assumption that the story isn't meant literally.” 

Dwalin cocked his head. “We were certainly called together. Ori, does the lore say what to expect during the fight?” 

“When good triumphs the highest mountains will fall and the children of men will be avenged. Following the battle, life will begin anew and the world will regain its glory.” 

“That's good and all, but that's after the battle.” Dwalin sighed. “You can't say anything about the fight can you?” Ori shook his head. 

“So, there's nothing else you can tell us?” Thorin frowned. 

“No, and I can't go with you into Valinor. I would be a hindrance at best.” Ori managed a small smile. “But I know all the possible outcomes and I know my friends. You can do this.” 

Thorin nodded slowly, “Tonight we rest and tomorrow we storm Valinor at first light.” 

* * *

Bilbo and Thorin sat alone in the darkness of the trees long after everyone else had gone to sleep. There was every likelihood of them dying inside Valinor and neither wanted to go with words left unsaid. Thorin leaned against the trunk of a downed tree, with Bilbo settled comfortably between his legs. Their hands were intertwined and they shared quiet kisses to put off saying their goodbyes. From his vantage point, Bilbo could feel every beat of Thorin's heart and a cold dread settled in his spine at the thought that he might never hear such a simple, rhythmic sound again. 

“There are so many things I would tell you if only we had the time,” Thorin's voice was soft, sad. 

“There will be quite enough time for everything once we've won,” Bilbo responded, his lips curving in what he hoped resembled a confident smile. 

“Of course you're right.” He leaned in for a kiss, dragging it out until all the air had fled their lungs and left them gasping against each others lips. “I love you, you know.” 

Bilbo never knew his heart could be heavy and light at the same time. In the midst of impending doom, he had found true happiness. “I know you do, my dear. And I love you.” 

The darkness stretched in all directions, nothing but faint starlight and the waxing gibbous moon lighting their way. Each touch blended into the next as they came together for what could be the first and last time. It was not desperate or frantic, but heady and slow and perfectly them. If they had had more time, Bilbo would have seen his love laid out beneath him and memorized every inch of his skin, but the dawn was greedy and chased away the shadows all too soon. 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got the idea for Ori being Mahal's Voice from Tolkien himself. Tuor goes on an errand for Ulmo at one point and finds himself with words entering his mind unbidden, because Ulmo thought it was knowledge he should have.
> 
> What did you think? So much happened in this chapter, which seems strange as all they did was sit around and talk. :) Does anyone have ideas of what's going to happen in the end? I've been dropping some Tolkien-lore hints and am curious if anyone has picked up on it.
> 
> Next chapter our heroes will venture into the Valinor Corporation and confront Morgoth. We're almost at the end of the story, guys! :(
> 
> Oh! If you're looking for something else to read I have a two-part Dwalin/Ori fic going (first part is up, second part will be finished this week) and sometime in the next week I'll be posting an 'everybody dies' afterlife story.


	21. Seeking Valinor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're nearing the end of our story... our heroes are heading into the Valinor Corporation to confront Morgoth. It should go without saying, but here's a warning for violence in this chapter.

* * *

_Tuesday November 12, 2019_  
 _San Francisco, California_

 

Dawn spread over the horizon like wildfire, painting the storm clouds a deep blood red. The air was cloyingly thick, with no breeze to calm the beads of sweat that slid down temples and trickled over spines. In the growing daylight, the brick building of the Valinor Corporation looked like an impenetrable fortress. Bilbo half expected to find banners flying and horns blowing to signal that Morgoth was awaiting their strike, but the glass block windows remained dark and motionless.

The members of the company shuffled quietly around the car, checking their weapons and saying hesitant goodbyes. Dori and Balin were staying behind because of their injuries, Bombur because he wasn't much good in a fight. Ori was not at liberty to join them, but watched Bilbo with a deeply inquisitive look. The boys were another story entirely- while Fíli clearly didn't want his brother to be part of the battle, he also didn't want to be left behind. Kíli's lower lip stick out in a full fledged pout, but he stayed obediently on the hood of the Bronco.

Bilbo slowly made his rounds and said goodbye to Dori, Bombur, and Ori. He hugged Balin affectionately and offered in jest to keep an eye on Dwalin while they were inside. Stormcrow and Mahal offered no more advice except to exchange knowing smiles, so he bid them quick farewells and moved on. Bilbo saved the boys for last, pulling them in to a tight hug and making them promise to take care of each other no matter what the outcome. It was something he knew they would do regardless of his asking, but it made him feel better to hear it all the same. If he hugged them a little too tightly, neither boy seemed to mind.

Thorin moved in and wrapped his arms around his nephews, pulling them close. Bilbo couldn't hear the words they exchanged, but he could see the love and affection that played out beside the fear on their faces. Kíli's smile was small and hopeful, while Fíli nodded at their uncle with a fierce determination. Thorin pressed a kiss to each boy's forehead and then released them, stepping back as though he didn't want to let them go. “You two boys are the best thing that has ever happened to me. You are everything that is bright and good in this world,” Thorin's voice broke. “No matter what happens, you lads need to know that you are loved. You are _so_ loved.” He did nothing to disguise the tears in his eyes as he shouldered a baseball bat and turned towards Valinor.

* * *

Bilbo fell in step beside Thorin as they made their way down the hill towards the front gates of the Valinor Corporation, their shoulders brushing against each other as they walked. “We don't have to do this, you know. There's still time to leave. To find a safe corner to hide and never look back.”

Thorin responded without looking away from their goal. “We have to do this for the boys. You can leave if you want to... I can't force you to stay...”

“You know I'm staying,” Bilbo said as they entered the fence surrounding the Valinor Corporation building. Dwalin and Nori followed close behind them, eyes peeled for any sign of danger. Oin and Gloin shuffled nervously, neither wanting to be a part of the battle, but both necessary because of their knowledge. Bofur and Bifur brought up the rear, watching their backs, a well as making sure the jittery scientist didn't decide to bolt.

“The doors are locked with electric keypads. There are battery back-ups, so they should work as long as my authorization codes are still good,” Gloin said under his breath. He looked down at his son's picture and exhaled deeply as if to steady himself. “We have to assume there will be goblins inside- Bauglir always kept test subjects around. They're usually in cells, but he might release them to try and slow us down.”

“We'll have to free the other scientists,” Oin added, straightening his lab coat. “I believe we were the only ones to escape before the lock down.”

The front door of the Valinor Corporation building loomed before them, a heavy steel barrier between the company and their goal. A small touch screen to the right of the door flashed green when Gloin tapped a series of numbers on the keypad. “It looks like the battery back-up is still functioning.” He swung the door inward and they entered a short vestibule hallway with two doors at the end.

Dim light filtered in through the glass block windows, but Oin lit two torches and passed one to Bilbo. “The door on the left is a conference room. The other leads down to the laboratories.”

Dwalin and Thorin crept forward and flanked the left door, throwing it open and peering inside with weapons raised. “Clear,” Dwalin proclaimed, making a quick search of the room. The large conference table was scattered with papers and several of the chairs were overturned. “Looks like someone left here in a hurry.” He moved back to the hallway and threw open the second door, staring down in to the darkness below. “This ain't gonna be fun. Light the rooms as best you can and watch each others backs.” Bilbo moved towards the front of the group and lit the way as they crept down the stairs.

At the bottom of the staircase Bilbo's torchlight reflected off a dozen pairs of vacant eyes. The goblins appeared to have been fighting amongst themselves; many sported missing fingers and hands that festered with gangrene, the rotting flesh dark and oozing. Bilbo gagged at the smell, but raised his torch high so the others could see their foes. Dwalin broke ranks first and slammed his fist in to the nearest goblin, his brass knuckles caving the creature's face in. Thorin moved up to guard his friend's back, taking down another of the beasts with a blow to the neck. Bifur let out a muddled war cry and leaped into the fray, wielding the shaft of a broken golf club like a spear. Bofur's mattock made quick work of his opponents, the sound of cracking bone sounding out above the cacophony of screams and moans. Gloin backed his brother into a corner, swinging his club to knock back the goblins who ventured too close. As soon as he grounded a foe, Nori rushed in with a wickedly curved hunting knife and slit the creature's throats and tendons, leaving them to bleed out on the tiled floor. Bilbo tried his best to stay out of the way, keeping his torch aloft and using his bat when an opportunity presented itself. He moved in to down a foe when Bifur was knocked off his feet, but stepped back as soon as the other man righted himself.

It didn't take long for the company to dispatch of the remaining goblins. They piled the corpses inside the trio of holding cells which lined on side of the hallway, to keep the main path clear in case they had to make a quick escape. Next to the cells, a door opened to reveal a security office that was just as empty as the conference room upstairs.

“Something's not right,” Gloin said with a deep frown. “Where is everyone? There should be a dozen scientists and workers here.” The opposite side of the hall boasted two heavy doors with bio-chemical warning signs. “Those are the labs- the others must be hiding inside.”

Moving in to defensive positions, Dwalin and Thorin threw open the first door. Lab equipment lay scattered across the tables and floor, a faint burning smell emanating from a metal trash can in the corner. “They've destroyed all the research notes,” Oin growled, broken glass crunching beneath his shoes. 

“Never mind the notes,” Bilbo snapped. “I do believe we've got more important things to worry about.” He swiftly opened the second door and jumped back in horror, “Oh no...” Inside the small laboratory lay a dozen corpses, piled up as if they had been scrambling over each other to get away. A myriad of wounds covered the bodies, throats and arteries slashed, blood staining their lab coats red. Bilbo pulled the door shut, blocking the victims from view, though he knew the image would always be burned into his mind. “I don't think the goblins did that.”

“No, that was no goblin,” Thorin's voice was almost a snarl. “Either Morgoth has help, or he's even more dangerous than we realized.”

“Well, that's a cheery fucking thought,” Nori scoffed with a roll of his eyes. “What's down the next flight of stairs?”

“The next flight? Oh, yes.” Oin blinked slowly. “The bottom level houses Doctor Bauglir's office, the two vaults, and the safe room.”

“Safe room?” Bofur re-situated his hat, tugging the ear-flaps downward. “Like lock yourself in for weeks with food an' water an' everything?”

“Precisely.” Oin nodded. “If Doctor Bauglir is still here, I would surmise that is where he will be. It has three deadbolt locks and can only be opened from the inside.”

“Mebby th' idjit dun lef,” Bifur drawled, wiping the point of his makeshift spear off on his shirttail.

Bilbo frowned, “I'm not sure if I hope you're right or not.” He rubbed a hand over his forehead, worrying at a bruise he didn't remember getting. “I certainly don't want to fight him, but if he escaped with vials of the GOBO Virus, he could easily infect other survivors.” Sighing heavily he shook his head with a shrug, “I do believe he needs to be dealt with.”

“Before we go down there I want to say something,” Thorin looked fondly at each man in the company. “You have all taken on this task with more loyalty, honor, and bravery then I ever expected. I'm proud to be part of this family.” He urged them towards the door. “Let's get on with it then.” 

A murmur of agreement rang out from the company and Bilbo felt his heart swell at the comradely, even in the face of death. “Morgoth may be powerful, but we are Mahal's Pride and we have something he will _never_ have- each other!” He pressed a hand against the side of his jacket, feeling the now-familiar weight of the knife tucked inside. With a grim nod he hefted his torch and followed Thorin down the stairs into the vaults.

* * *

The basement of the Valinor Corporation consisted of a small hallway with four locked doors, black tiled floors, and dark blue cement walls. The temperature crept much lower than the upper levels, cool enough to keep vaccines stable and to raise tiny goosebumps along any exposed bit of flesh. Bilbo wedged his torch into the crook of a wall sconce and looked around with a growing unease. The quiet seemed to reach for miles, broken only by the occasional snap of fire from the torches and their soft footsteps against the marble floors. 

No one said a word as they moved to the first door, Gloin mouthing the word _office_ before entering a numerical sequence on the keypad. The heavy clunk of the door unlocking echoed in the silence, causing more than one member of the company to jump. Morgoth's office appeared to be in order, with neat stacks of paper in the memo tray and freshly sharpened pencils lined up in a perfect row. A series of motivational posters hung on the walls, proclaiming the importance of things like _Goals!_ _Leadership!_ and _Success!_ and bearing pictures of mountain climbers and kittens hanging from tree branches. A low bank of file cabinets bordered one wall, each file carefully labeled with a name and date. The first file they opened contained a picture of a pretty young girl smiling at the camera and was dated _July 23, 2019_. There was a sheaf of medical charts and test results, followed by a series of photographs, each more grisly than the last. “He documented them,” Bilbo whispered. “He sat there and took pictures while the plague destroyed them!” The bile rose in his throat at the realization. He watched Thorin shift through the files until he came to his father's name, and said nothing when he saw the other man slide the folder into his coat.

Moving back into the hall, Dwalin pressed an ear against the imposing black door of the safe room and listened for signs of life inside. He shook his head and shrugged, silently asking Thorin what to do. Thorin motioned towards the vaults and mouthed the word _vaccine_ at Gloin. Rubbing his ID badge absently between his fingers, Gloin stared at the keypad for several seconds before pressing the buttons. With a metallic click the door the the vault unlocked and slid open. Clear plastic boxes sat upon the metal shelves that lined the walls, each holding tiny glass vials of GOBO vaccine. “There must be enough vaccine here to safeguard at least a thousand people,” Thorin breathed with excitement as he pulled several boxes down and stacked them under his arm.

“ _Thieves!”_ Behind the black door to the safe room a dark and terrible voice sounded. As the company watched in horror, the first lock slid open with a resounding snap. 

With panicked eyes, Thorin turned to Oin and shoved the boxes of vaccine into his hands. “Go! Take your brother and get out of here! If things go bad I want you to take the boys and run!” His words were rushed as he pleaded with his friend. “Vaccinate them! They know where your nephew is... _please_! Just keep them safe!” 

The second bolt unlocked.

“I'm staying here!” Gloin's voice was thick with fear and resolve. “It's time to fight so my son has a world to grow up in.” He hugged his brother tightly, then pushed his towards the stairs. “If I... You'll tell Gimli that I love him, won't you?”

“You'll tell him yourself,” Oin whispered fiercely. “But, yes. You know I will, if...” He blinked away tears and raced up the stairs with the boxes of vaccine tucked tightly under his arm. 

The final latch unlocked.

Morgoth Bauglir was tall, with impossibly dark hair, and eyes that seemed to simultaneously burn with a withering stare and pierce with a deadly cold. Deep jagged scars ran the length of his face and narrowly missed his left eye, looking as though a colossal bird had swooped down and clawed at his flesh with viscous talons. Thick ropes of burnt tissue circled his fingers and curled up his hands, as if he had once worn rings hewn from pure fire. He wore black from head to toe; an impeccably tailored suit that gave way to a polished leather boot on his left foot and a metal prostheses in place of his right. He was fearsome and terrible and radiated an air of undiluted evil that seemed to leach all of the joy and hope out of the room.

“ _Who is it that dares come into my fortress and attempts to steal what is rightly mine?”_ The voice was deep and commanding, and although Morgoth's lips moved, the words seemed to resonate from within their minds. _“Who dares defy me?”_

Bilbo's heart thumped so loudly in his chest that he thought it might burst under the strain. “Well, uh, you see...” He stopped stumbling through his words and took a deep breath to clear his head. “We are Mahal's Pride and we demand to know why you have marred our world.”

“ _You demand?!”_ Morgoth's eyes shot looks of fire and ice that withered Bilbo to his core. _“You mortals have no power to demand anything of me. And yet...”_ He paused and tilted his head sharply to the side. _“And yet you come in the name of Mahal and that intrigues me. What is it you wish to know before I destroy you?”_ Firelight from the torches flickered across his skin and caused shadows to settle into the deep crevices of his scars.

“Why did you have the scientists create the GOBO Virus?” Bilbo's voice sounded more calm than he felt and he forced himself to look Morgoth in the eye, even though every shred of self-preservation told him to flee.

Morgoth's laugh was chilling and held within it no degree of mirth, _“Money? Power? Fear? Why does anyone do anything really? For gain!”_ He slammed his fist hard against the wall, leaving a deep indention in the dark cement. _“Your government did not believe that I could defeat them. I showed them proof of my work and demanded control over your puny country, but they denied me! That was their first mistake.”_

While Morgoth raged on with his self-elaboration, the members of the company made silent plans with their eyes and skirted closer together in preparation for an attack. If their foe saw through their designs he was not worried and continued on with his monologue.

“ _They sent an elite task force to capture me, you know.”_ The grin that crawled up Morgoth's face tugged at the scar tissue and formed a grotesque grimace. _“They were the first to suffer the corruption of my glorious sickness! Your government learned that day that if I could not rule them, that I would destroy them!”_

“You have no dominion over us, Morgoth,” Thorin spoke with a calm assurance. “We except leaders, not rulers. You are no longer welcome here.”

Morgoth's temper flared as he spun you face Thorin. _“Me? It is you who has overstayed your welcome.”_ He flexed his fingers, scars stretching over the muscle as he formed his hands in to fists. _“And for that you will die!”_ Without batting an eye, Morgoth swung his fist forward and connected with Thorin's face, sending him flying hard into the wall and crumpling against it. Bilbo rushed to Thorin's side, trying to drag the other man upright while staying out of harm's way. The knife in his pocket weighed heavily on his mind and he struggled to figure out what to do.

“Thorin!” Dwalin screamed his friend's name as a war cry and rushed forward, slamming into their foe and pummeling him with iron fists. Nori crept in from behind, cutting deep gashes into the flesh of Morgoth's back and arms which gushed crimson but did not slow him down. Bifur joined the fray at Nori's side, wielding his makeshift spear with enough force to break ribs, but his weapon could make no purchase in the torso of a divine being. Morgoth fought back with uncanny speed and force, using no weapon other than his body to dominate the battle.

“It ain't no use!” Bofur screamed, blood gushing down the side of his face in heavy rivulets. “He's too strong!”

“Keep fighting!” Thorin struggled back to his feet just as Gloin sailed past him, rolling across the ground and coming to a stop with one arm jutting out at an odd angle. Blood oozed from where the bone ripped through the skin in multiple places, and his eyes rolled back in response to the pain.

Morgoth lashed out and grabbed Nori's knife, slashing as the boy darted out of the fray, leaving several of his fingers behind. He turned the knife on Dwalin, imbedding it deep in the soldier's thigh before twisting the blade until the tendons snapped and popped under the pressure. Bifur moved to pull Dwalin out of danger, but not before Morgoth caught him and clawed at the right side of his face, leaving behind a loose flap of skin.

Bilbo stared at the carnage and willed himself to move. His friends were hurt, maybe dying, and all he could do was stand frozen in place. He was not a fighter. He should have told Thorin or Dwalin about the knife, they would have a better chance at succeeding. He had never felt so helpless. Unbidden, Mahal's words crept back into his mind: _you already have everything you need_... _take heart._.. Summoning courage he didn't know he possessed, Bilbo reached into his jacket pocket and drew out the small knife he had been carrying since their race through the mines. The leather handle felt oddly warm in his hand and when he removed the blade form its sheath, the black iron seemed to glow in the torchlight. In front of him, only Thorin remained fighting, the rest of the company incapacitated, unconscious, or maybe worse. Bilbo didn't allow himself time to worry about the others, or even his own fate, as he clutched the knife in his hand. 

“ _Why do you keep fighting?”_ Morgoth's voice reverberated deep within Bilbo's skull. _“Why do you continue a battle you stand no chance of winning?”_

“Because that's what we do.” Bilbo took a step forward and tightened his grip on the knife handle. “That's what we'll _always_ do when it comes to the people we love.”

Thorin grappled with their foe, twisting and holding and not so much trying to fight as to simply restrain and survive. For a brief instant Morgoth's arms were pinned behind his back and that is when Bilbo struck- driving the black blade deep into his heart.

Morgoth's scream echoed off the dark walls as he arched his back and clawed frantically at the dagger. He fought back, sending Thorin to the ground and throwing Bilbo hard towards the far wall. As the world spiraled out of control, Bilbo locked eyes with Thorin and saw the confusion and betrayal on his friend's face. A sharp pain exploded as his back hit the wall and he struggled to get back to his feet, but a sudden wave of nausea kept him down. None of his limbs felt connected to his body and everything was much too loud. Bilbo tried to yell, but his lungs didn't appear to be working properly. He could hear his own breaths coming out in quick, shallow gasps, each one burning like dragon fire and making his head spin. He tried to move, to look for Thorin, but the world shifted and everything went black.

 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Morgoth's description is a modernized version of how he actually looks in Tolkien's cannon. I couldn't make that stuff up.
> 
> Bilbo's knife... I know a few people had really good guesses about the lore I pulled that from. If you're not familiar with the story of the Battle of Battles, you should totally at least Wiki it and read about Morgoth's downfall. It's a really interesting story. But I pretty much took the cannon idea and made it work with these characters.


	22. Interlude: Thorin Before

* * *

_Before  
Ann Arbor, Michigan_

Only one photograph existed of Thorin's entire family, a grainy snapshot taken the day his younger brother Frerin was born. Their father Thrain looked smug and proud. Their mother Sara looked tired and weak. Thorin and his younger sister Dís stared at the small wrinkled baby with identical looks of disdain. It was the type of picture that should have been looked at later in life and met with laughter, but tragedy struck the family and laughter became a rarity. 

The birth had been rough and Frerin had lived only two days. Sara followed her baby into the ground not a week later. Thrain hadn't known how to deal with two heartsick children and sent them off to boarding school as soon as the funerals were over.

Thorin flew under the radar at school, fearful of his father's disappointment. By the time he reached college he was chafing at the frustration of living under Thrain's thumb. He threw himself into an engineering degree, because he wanted to work with his hands. He wanted to create something.

During his years in the dorms Thorin partied hard, but studied harder, always earning good marks in his classes. He discovered himself in the seedy bars and clubs that surrounded the university. Most weekends would begin with a pub crawl and many would end with a man in his bed, though none of them stuck around long. Thorin was too intense. Too stoic. Too afraid. He wasn't easy to be with.

Thorin always thought it was just as well that he remained single, because he didn't have any love to spare once his nephews were born. Fíli and Kíli made him laugh and smile and feel things that he never thought possible. When the boys were around he felt loved and brave and carefree. They were the best things in his world- his hope for the future. Thorin would do anything for them.

The men he dated never understood his devotion to his nephews. They grew annoyed when he missed dinner reservations to pick Fíli up from science club. They were unhappy when Kíli needed a chaperone for a class trip. The got downright pissed when the boys showed up at his apartment without warning for a weekend's stay. Thorin never told them no. 

The men would always leave and his nephews would stay. Thorin could never love someone who didn't also love his boys.

Several years after his college graduation, Dís fell ill. Cancer, the doctors said. It was in her bones, spreading through the very core of her being, and there was nothing to be done. Thorin quit his job, sold his tiny studio apartment, and moved into the small home his sister shared with her boys. He made sure his nephews were fed and clothed, made it to school on time, and had someone to talk to. For two years he nursed his sister, staying by her side as she slowly forgot them to the pain. He taught Fíli how to box, when the boy began getting himself into fights at school. He held Kíli as he cried, when his mother could no longer remember his name. 

Dís made it though one last Christmas before the cancer took her in late January. She was 34 years old.

Suddenly Thorin found himself the sole caretaker of his two nephews. They were 13 and 15, barely more than children. But they were his world.

They had two months to mourn before Thrain went missing and four more until the world went mad. They left home as August ended and never looked back.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you like this little glimpse into Thorin's back-story? I am well-aware that Dis is actually the youngest- I changed her age with Frerin's for the sake of the story. I love the idea that Thrain had two heartbroken children and sent them away, and Thorin ended up with two heartbroken children and pretty much tried to save the world for them.
> 
> Stay tuned for the FINAL CHAPTER! See how it all ends and if our heroes make it out in one piece...


	23. Good News

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it. The last real chapter.
> 
> Before we start I want to take a moment to thank you all with the deepest sincerity, from the bottom of my heart. This story wouldn't have been half as fun to write had it not been for all the comments and support from you wonderful people. I honestly believe that I have the best group of readers in the whole world- seriously, you guys are AMAZING and I love you all!
> 
> Again- thank you all so SO much. And now... on to the story...

* * *

_Thursday November 14, 2019  
San Francisco, California_

 

When Bilbo awoke to the sound of birdsong and sunlight streaming through the treetops, he assumed he must be dead. He tried to sit up and felt the splintering pain burn across his torso, proving that he was in fact still alive, but making him think it might be better were he not. Struggling to open his eyes, he gagged against the dry stickiness in his mouth and let out a low moan.

“Uncle Thorin! He's awake!” Two identical smiles appeared above Bilbo and he squinted up at them in slight confusion. “It's okay, don't move too much,” Fíli said, glancing away from Bilbo's face to grin at his brother. “Uncle will explain everything.”

Kíli nodded happily. “We're glad you're alive!”

“Go bother someone else, lads,” Thorin's voice was firm, but kind as he limped into view. “I see you decided to stay with us, Bilbo. We thought you were lost.”

“If the pain is any indication, I am very much alive, thank you very much.” Turning his head, Bilbo found himself laying on a low bench in the parking lot outside the Valinor Corporation building. His torso was wrapped tightly with gauze and bits of the bandages were damp with pale pink stains. “Are the others...? He couldn't bring himself to finish the question, fear gripping his heart at what the answer might be.

“Alive as well.” Thorin managed a pained smile through the bruises on his face. “Though I doubt we'll be fit for much of anything for quite some time.” He helped Bilbo sit up, propping a purloined chair cushion behind his back to help support the weight. 

From his new vantage point, Bilbo could see the rest of the company scattered in front of him. He took heart in the fact that everyone seemed upwardly mobile, but a closer inspection revealed injuries and a cold knot formed in the pit of his stomach. Bifur leaned against the hood of the car talking animatedly with his cousins, a thick bandage wrapped over his face and sinking in slightly where his right eye should have been. He slung an arm around Bofur's shoulders with a garbled remark and gestured to the deep cuts and bruises that blanketed the other man's face. Dwalin and Balin were arguing softly, the seasoned warrior obviously objecting to being told to keep the weight off his injured leg. Beside them Gloin sat with his left arm held tightly in a sling, gazing off into the distance with his teeth clenched against the pain. Across the lot, Nori bristled against his older brother's ministrations, waving off Dori's concern with a heavily bandaged hand. Oin scurried between the groups, his medical background shining through as he adjusted bandages, checked stitches, and administered pain relievers. Stormcrow and Mahal sat against the side of the building and held court over the boys; Fíli listened with rapt attention as Ori Spoke, posing questions and nodding enthusiastically, while Kíli leaned into his brother's side and picked absently at the fraying hem of his jeans.

“We all lived?” Bilbo questioned, not quite believing his eyes.

“Every one of us,” Thorin answered, poking halfheartedly at a line of stitches along his forearm. “We were lucky to have Oin with us and that there were medical supplies in the lab.”

“The lab... Morgoth!?” Bilbo bolted up, wincing as the sudden movement jarred his wounds. “Is he...?”

“Dead.” The word was heavy with finality, though a hint of betrayal showed in Thorin's eyes. “How long did you have that knife?”

Bilbo sighed with resignation, half tempted to feign unconsciousness to avoid the conversation. “Sidney. I found it in the mines.” 

“And how long before you knew what it was?” Thorin's eyes were beseeching.

“Knew what it was? I'm still not quite certain...” Bilbo managed half a shrug, though the movement was hampered by the tight bandaging. “But I knew it was of import when Mahal said this would be our Battle of Battles. He looked at me and... I can't rightly explain it, but I just _knew_.”

“Mahal says the blade was a relic forged ages ago and made from a meteorite’s metal,” Thorin's eyes narrowed slightly. “He seemed to have no idea what it was doing in Sidney, and I can't fathom why you kept it a secret from us.”

“I don't know why I didn't tell you,” Bilbo said softly. He ran a hand along his side, wincing as his fingers brushed over the tight knots of wounded flesh. “At first it honestly didn't seem that important. What was one little knife in the middle of everything else we had going on. I supposed it was something a miner had dropped...”

“But it wasn't, was it?” Thorin rested his palms on his thighs and leaned forward, staring coolly at his friend. “And you knew that in the end.”

“I'm sorry, Thorin. _Truly_ I am. I should have told you once I suspected its importance, but I was worried you'd be upset with me for keeping it a secret.” The moment the selfish words left his mouth Bilbo wished he could take them back.

“I found out though.” Thorin's fingers curved into a fist and he clenched it in exasperation. “Did you honestly think you could waltz in and kill Morgoth and no one would notice you doing it?”

“What? No! I just... Well, I didn't think at all, now did I?” Bilbo dropped his head into his open palms and covered his face, embarrassed at how easily the tears came unbidden to his eyes. “Not that it matters now, because you're mad anyway! And you have every right to be!” In between the sobs and the guilt and the pain, he hardly noticed when the confession slipped out, “And you won't want me to stay.”

“Stay? Is that what this was about? You thought I'd be mad and wouldn't want you to stay with us?” Thorin's jaw dropped in dismay and he reached out to pull Bilbo's hands away from his face. “You're family, Bilbo, family!”

“But you're still mad?” His voice sounded small and broken, but a tiny ray of hope shined through.

“Yes. No,” Thorin sighed heavily. “I'm too weary to be mad. We won. We all lived. Right now I am more grateful and tired than anything.”

Bilbo nodded slowly, his own fatigue catching up with him. “What happens now?”

“Now we take a couple days to recuperate. We deserve that much.” Thorin looked across the lot to where their friends were resting. “Mahal says we should start by rounding up all the survivors we can and gathering them in one place, but that sounds too much like the Protection Camps. I'd rather give them a choice about coming with us. We're not going to re-forge the world in shackles... People deserve to their free will after all they've been through.”

“That they do,” Bilbo agreed. “And so do we.”

Thorin exhaled deeply, “I've been talking with the others, we want to load up the vaccine and head towards Mirkwood. If Thranduil is willing to work with us, we can vaccinate all those people and find out the locations of the other Protection Camps. It's a start, though there are bound to be other survivors.” He chewed on his lip for a moment before adding, “After all that I suppose we'll find a place to settle down. Carve ourselves a home.”

“What about the plague?” Bilbo pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache setting in.

“If there are no people to infect the GOBO Virus should die out on its own.” Thorin managed a small grin at that particular bit of luck. “Oin seems cautiously optimistic, but he says the plague should be all but eradicated within a year or two.”

“So we did it. We won.”

“It seems we did.” Thorin nodded, careful of his wounds. “The world stands a chance now.”

“That's good news!” Bilbo said with relief, then worried his lip with his teeth. “What about us?”

Thorin peered down at him intently, “I suppose we muddle through it like we have been. I'll be intense and difficult, you'll be sassy and a bit too proper.” He managed a crooked grin. “But once we've found a place to settle we could have a actual go of it. If you'd like...”

Looking into Thorin's hesitant eyes Bilbo smiled softly, the weight on his shoulders lightened immensely by a buoyant hope for the future. “It would be nice to kiss you without the threat of death hanging over us.”

They shared a quiet laugh. “I don't see any looming danger right now...”

“Neither do I”, Bilbo whispered against Thorin's lips.

* * *

_Sunday November 17, 2019  
San Francisco, California_

 

“All right, lads, ya gotta get moving!” Bofur straightened the ear flaps of his cap as he nudged Kíli with his foot.

“What?” The younger boy yawned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and sitting up. “Oh. Is it time to leave? Hey, Fee!”

Fíli tucked his head under his arms and grumbled, coming out only when his brother started to tickle his sides. “Kíli! Stop that, you jerk!”

Laughing at the boys antics, Balin passed the last box of vaccine up the ladder to Ori, who secured it to the luggage rack. “We're good up here.”

“I ain't looking forward to another road trip, but I will be glad to get away from this place,” Dwalin muttered, limping heavily towards the bus and rolling his eyes at the flowering plants painted across its paneling.

Nori leaned towards his older brother conspiratorially. “Where did we get a fucking bus anyway?”

“Ask Stormcrow,” Dori shrugged. “Sometimes I swear that man is a wizard.”

Smoke billowed out from the depths of the Valinor Corporation building, forming a thick cloud above the treeline that slowly dissipated in the breeze that blew in from the bay. The medical waste incinerator they used was old, but it worked well enough to destroy the last vials of the GOBO Virus. Although they were vaccinated against the plague, the company refused to risk the virus falling in to the wrong hands.

“I burnt my father's file,” Thorin said softly, easing himself to the ground beside Bilbo. “All the other files as well. There's no reason anyone ever needs to see what the plague did to those people.”

“No, I suppose there isn't.” Bilbo looked up at Thorin, squinting into the sunlight as he tried to gauge the other man's face. “Did you...?”

“Read it?” Thorin shook his head and exhaled slowly. “No. I couldn't. I didn't want that to be my last memory of him.”

Bilbo nodded. “Your father was a good man. I never had to meet him to know that.” He put up a hand to shade his eyes from the sun. “Everyone who was infected at that same time went back out into the world, but not Thrain. Your father refused to risk the lives of his family for a chance to save his own. He loved you. You should be proud of him.”

After a long moment Thorin inclined his head and smiled, “I am. And I like to think he'd be proud of me too.”

“I do believe he would,” Bilbo said, as Thorin stood and dusted off his pant legs. They shared a look before Thorin turned and walked towards the bus where the other members of the company were waiting.

Bilbo couldn't help but grin as he gingerly pulled himself to his feet. The past few months had been hard, but even with all the terror and injuries, they had been worth it. Surrounded by the rest of Mahal's Pride, Bilbo's heart swelled to know that family was not only something you were born into, but something you could create for yourself. They forged their own family out friendship and adversity and no small amount of destiny. Whether it was the prophecy that brought them together, Bilbo could not say, but he thanked the stars every night for whatever fate brought Thorin and his nephews to knock on his door. Mahal and Stormcrow were lording around, but Bilbo found he had little time for gods and prophets. This was an age of man- it was man who started the quest and man who saw it though. It was not Mahal's pride that mattered, but their pride in themselves. Throughout their journey they had seen the worst horrors of a dying world and found the brightest hope in the midst of all the pain. Climbing up the steps to the bus, Bilbo Baggins was filled with a sense of promise for the future. He gave a pleased nod and rubbed his hands together in anticipation- the world was ahead.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be a brief epilogue following this. Stay tuned!
> 
> I hope you'll keep an eye on my author's page, because I have more stories in the works. As a reminder, I'm PirateColey over on tumblr- come over a fangirl with me!
> 
> And again- thank you all so so SO much for being amazing and supportive! I love you all!


	24. Epilogue: A World Re-Forged

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This epilogue is dedicated to all of you- for reading and reviewing and being altogether awesome people.
> 
> This wasn't part of the original plan. I wrote this for you. THANK YOU!

* * *

_“It's like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger they were. And sometimes you didn't want to know the end… because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened? But in the end, it’s only a passing thing… this shadow. Even darkness must pass.” -J.R.R. Tolkien,_ The Two Towers.

* * *

_November, 2024  
Eureka, California_

 

They called it the Before. Before the plague. Before the vaccine. Before the world went to hell in a hand-basket. People sometimes talked about what life was like Before; about who they had been or what they had done. Bilbo Baggins didn't care much about the Before. What mattered most to him was the now. The After.

A lot had happened in the five years After the fall of Valinor, so much so that it was almost difficult for Bilbo to keep it all straight. The first year was spent traveling, going first to Mirkwood and then on to the other Protection Camps, vaccinating survivors as they went. They made stops at Rivendell University and several other areas of interest, but outside of the camps there were precious few people left. In Lake Town they found no survivors.

The absence of life that had blanketed the world with eerie silence gave way almost instantly to the twitter of birds and snuffling of animals. It was as if the creatures themselves had reawakened after a nightmare and crawled restlessly back into the sun. Mahal's Pride gathered people as they went, those who did not wish to stay in the camps, those who had no family left, the children of diaspora. By the time the vaccine ran low they had accumulated nearly 300 people and decided it was time to carve out a home for themselves.

Eureka, California was located on the shores of the Humboldt Bay and boasted forests of redwood trees and abandoned gold mines. Named for the Greek word meaning “I have found it!”, Eureka was the perfect place to re-forge the world. There was lumber for building, an ocean ripe for fishing, and the prospect for more trades as their community grew. The climate was mild enough that they could survive without the comforts of Before. In short, it was paradise.

**Stormcrow** came and went a dozen times over the span of years. Each time he would leave without a word and return without fanfare after months away. Sometimes he would have a small group of survivors with him, brought back from the far reaches of the country. Other times he would return torn and gaunt, as if he had been engaged in a long battle. **Mahal** began talking of travel not long after they settled in Eureka. At first he had wanted Ori to go with him, to be his Voice, but the boy had put his foot down. He wouldn't leave his family or his new home. Mahal relented and began to take trips outside of Eureka with Stormcrow. What they saw or where they went was almost never discussed, but no one in the camp could argue that things ran smoother when the two were not around. It was obvious that they knew more about the world and its downfall than they had ever let on, but that knowledge was closely guarded, and there was precious little time to consider it when there was so much work to be done. 

Bilbo looked back on the years After the re-forging with a fair amount of fondness. Sometimes he thought it strange that he had any fond feelings for a time when the world was barely over its worst, but the fact remained that feelings couldn't be changed and he wasn't quite certain he would alter them even were he able. The company of Mahal's Pride had become a close-knit family, leaders in their new community, and Bilbo was proud of each and every one of them.

**Gloin** had been reunited with his wife and son in Mirkwood. The constant air of worry that hung over him had faded and he turned out to be a caring, jovial family man. His son, Gimli, never tired of hearing his father's part in saving the world- a story Gloin was always eager to retell. He became a father for the second time mere months after settling in Eureka. Though he never regained mobility in his shattered arm, Gloin proved himself able by using his computer and technology skills to teach the others how to build hand-crank generators using copper and magnets.

**Oin** carried the heavy weight of guilt for having created the GOBO Virus long after everyone else had moved on. There was no time for grudges or old hurts when there was so much to do and so many things to be thankful for. Oin worked tirelessly with the few other medical professionals from Before to train a new generation of field surgeons, midwives, and medics. He sewed up wounds, made poultices, developed vaccines, and delivered babies. He never forgave himself.

**Bombur** had met a woman during their internment in Mirkwood and was surprised to find her with child when they returned with the vaccine. They proved to be a good match and set about trying to repopulate the world on their own, with four children in five years. Bombur skillfully managed the stockrooms, though he could often be found sneaking treats to the children who clustered around his legs.

**Bofur** became a doting uncle to every small child tottering around After the re-forging, creating games with the young ones and watching after them while their parents worked. He gladly helped with repairing homes and felling trees, but refused to set foot inside the mines once they were reopened. Though tattered and torn, his beloved hat never left his head. He never spoke a word of life Before.

**Bifur** took the loss of his eye in stride, though the lack of depth perception made it too dangerous for him to resume work as a miner. Instead, he worked in the forges, teaching others how to turn the raw materials into useful things like nails and hinges and knives. With the scraps leftover from forging, Bifur created elaborate statues depicting scenes from their quest with startling detail. Even though the scar on his head and garbled speech make him seem frightening at first, it didn't take long for all the children to realize Bifur was nothing more than a giant teddy bear for them to play with.

**Dori** found life After the re-forging to be very uncivilized. He missed his office, and his freshly pressed suit jackets, and his imported tea leaves. What he missed most of all was knowing his brothers were out of danger. Even though the plague was virtually gone, Nori and Ori had seen and done so much on their quest that neither boy had come out the same. While Nori played up his role as hero, Ori seemed to fight with the demons in his mind. But Dori was proud of them both, more proud then he'd ever let on. And he could do without his office, and his suits, and his tea- just so long as his brothers were safe.

**Nori** wore his missing fingers like a badge of honor, using his part in the fall of Morgoth to gain renown and favor. There were very few young women who survived the plague, but Nori made sure to flirt with each and every one of them. He was also good about including all the young men in his dice games, though they usually left with fewer sweets and coins than what they started with. Nori was seldom found doing actual work, most of the time finding convenient excuses for turning down a job or simply disappearing into the shadows. What he actually did with the majority of his time was a mystery to everyone.

**Ori** and **Dwalin** developed a close friendship that surprised everyone- themselves included. With the world re-forged Mahal spent more and more time away from Eureka and Ori stayed behind. Without his job as Voice, he found himself at loose ends about where he fit in. There was too much knowledge in his head, too many things that couldn't be unseen, and no one seemed to understand what it was like to hold the dark inside. When he was alone at night Ori called on the knowledge of the gods and wrote down all the names of those who died. He wrote until his fingers bled and and his shoulders ached and his vision blurred. It was only Dwalin who could stay his hand. Dwalin, who had seen unspeakable horrors during the wars, knew what it meant to be haunted by your own actions and thoughts. He had been helping teach combat to some of the older teenagers and noticed the bleakness in Ori's eyes. Dwalin went to Ori's room that night to talk and never left. Whether it was friendship or something more even they weren't sure, but some of the ghosts left Ori's eyes and Dwalin laughed a little more often.

**Balin** took it upon himself to educate the younger members of their community. Many of the children had been without schooling for years and he refused to let the knowledge he'd accumulated during his lifetime fade away. The After was especially hard on Balin, who had lost his faith only to come face-to-face with the gods themselves. Even so, he focused on the small things that brought him a measure of peace- his brother's happiness, the new babies being born into a safer world, his friends prospering in their new lives. 

**Fíli** and **Kíli** came of age during the re-forging and had grown from frightened young boys into men. It took almost two years before either boy was comfortable enough in their new home to be away from each other for more than a few hours, and even after five years they were still customarily together. Even so, both boys had found their own places in the community and thrived brilliantly. Fíli discovered a knack for teaching and spent most of his days helping instruct the younger children in math and reading- anything that could be useful in their new lives. At night he would oftentimes be found in one of the community areas, reading out loud from The Odyssey or one of the other books they managed to save. Kíli, with his boundless energy, surprised everyone when he declared his intent to learn archery. With an uncharacteristic and intense focus, he practiced long and hard until he became one of the best archers in Eureka. Much of the food that got them through the rough seasons was thanks to his skill with a bow.

**Bilbo** and **Thorin** finally had the chance to have a proper go at a relationship. It was tricky at first, trying to figure out how they fit together in a relatively normal situation. In some ways, they had to get to know each other all over again. Thorin learned that Bilbo was a planner- that he could manage and prioritize like no one else. And he found out the hard way not to get in Bilbo's way when he was in the middle of a project, because the smaller man's wrath was devastating. Bilbo discovered that Thorin had a goofy sense of humor and an easy smile. It was startling to see after so many months of stoic fatalism, but it was a welcome sight all the same. They didn't learn these things overnight, or even in the course of a year. In fact, five years After the defeat of Morgoth, they were still learning new things about each other and themselves. Thorin preferred his eggs scrambled. Bilbo didn't know how to swim. Thorin was dreadful at gardening. Bilbo loved being barefoot in the summer. But they were both passionate about each other, their boys, their friends, and their new home. And though it was nothing like a fairy tale, they got their happy ending.

Bilbo Baggins expected to find a lot of things at the end of the world. He expected death and destruction and hopelessness. He never expected Mahal's Pride, thirteen of the best and brightest friends anyone could ever ask for. He never expected a family, but that's exactly what he found. Eureka.

* * *


End file.
